UC-NRLF 


PINCHER     DECLARED      .       .      .      SHE   WAS   ON    HER    HIND    LEGS 
CARRYING    HER   BABY   IN    HER   ARMS   LIKE  ANYBODY."     Page  25. 


^j^o/nofs  ^.CroWel/sc  Co. 


THE    CHILDREN    OF 
THE    VALLEY 


BY 

HARRIET    PRESCOTT    SPOFFORD 

Author  of  the  "  Hester  Stanley  "  Books, 
"  A  Lost  Jewel,"  etc. 


FIFTH   THOUSAND 


NEW  YORK: 

THOMAS   Y.   CROWELL   &   CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1901, 
By  t.  y.  crow  ell  &  CO. 


OOE"TE]N'TS. 


I.  PAGE 

Ally  and  the  Children  of  the  Hill 5 

II. 
All  the  People 9 

m. 

What  the  Twins  Eound 15 

IV. 

Mother  Bear's  Call 21 

■'     V. 

Two  Little  Consciences 26 

VI. 
After  Dark  on  the  Ice 35 

VII. 
The  Snow  Hut 41 

VIII. 

A  Wilful  Boy 49 

3 


ivi5ii975 


4  CONTENTS. 

IX^'  PAGE 

The  Night-Storm  in  the  Woods 57 

X. 

The  Christmas  Tree  on  the  Cliff 63 

XI. 
Aunt  Rose  and  the  Children 68 

XII. 
The  Flight  on  the  Street  Car 71 

xm. 

Sally's  Voyage 75 

XIV. 
Sally's  Hill  Journey 78 

XV. 
That  Day  When  Ally  was  Lost 85 

XVI. 
Aunt  Susan's  Baby 89 


The  Children  of  the  Valley. 


ALLY   AlTD   THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   HILL. 

Ally  was  lost  —  the  little  blue-eyed  dear! 
That  is  to  say,  she  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
And  of  course  there  was  commotion  in  the 
Valley.  Michael,  the  gardener,  was  going  one 
way;  and  John,  the  house-man,  another;  and 
Pincher,  one  of  the  loggers,  was  making  for  the 
hills  with  Uncle  Billy  in  one  direction,  and  Old 
Uncle  and  Will  and  Charlie  had  gone  up  in  an- 
other; and  Aunt  Rose  and  Aunt  Susan  were 
hunting  through  the  house ;  and  Janet  and 
Essie  were  running  this  way  and  that  —  and  it 
was  noon,  and  still  they^  hadn't  found  her. 

Will  was  sure  Ally  would  be  found  in  the 
strawberry-patch  on  the  farther  edge  of  the  in- 
tervale across  the  river,  and  as  the  boat  was  on 
the  other  side  he  had  offered  to  swim  over  and 
fetch  it. 

Charlie  had  been  equally  sure  that  she  was 
looking  for  bear-cubs  again  in  the  hollow  half- 
way up  Blue  Top. 

5 


6  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

Aunt  Susan  was  convinced  that  she  had  fallen 
asleep  somewhere  under  a  bush,  when  she  could 
not  be  found  in  the  house. 

Aunt  Rose  thought  she  might  have  been 
taken  to  drive  by  people  passing  through  the 
Valley  —  sometimes  some  of  them  were  —  and 
they  would  bring  her  back. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Old  Uncle,  "  they'll  bring 
her  back !  AUy'll  turn  up  all  right  —  she 
makes  more  noise,  when  she  sets  about  it,  than 
all  the  rest  of  you  put  together !  "  Neverthe- 
less, Old  Uncle  —  who  believed  in  whipping, 
at  least  he  said  he  did  —  was  making  for  the 
hollows  of  Blue  Top  as  he  said  it.  For  Ally 
was  really  the  darling  of  the  household,  always 
bright  and  sweet-tempered,  and  daring  and  ready 
for  anything. 

Essie,  who  was  Ally's  twin,  felt  indignant 
with  Old  Uncle  for  talking  so  when  no  one 
knew  what  had  become  of  Ally;  she  gave  it 
as  her  opinion  that  the  fairies  had  taken  her 
into  their  own  invisible  country  —  the  fairies 
who  haunted  the  Valley,  as  every  one  knew, 
or  else  why  should  they  be  seen  sailing  away  on 
the  early  breeze  in  chariots  like  cobwebs,  leav- 
ing their  coverlets,  long  spreads  of  jewels, 
shining  on  the  sides  of  all  the  slopes  of  Blue 
Top  and  Green  Ridge.  But  Essie  was  always 
imagining  something  that  wasn't  so,  Will 
said. 

Janet  said  nothing.  In  her  own  mind,  al- 
though she  didn't  like  to  speak  of  it,  she  be- 


ALLY  AND    THE   CHILDREN.  7 

lieved  Ally  had  gone  up  into  the  clouds  round 
Blue  Top  to  find  Aunt  Susan's  baby  who,  they 
understood,  had  been  taken  away  by  the  Chil- 
dren of  the  Hill.  Janet  knew  that  Ally  had 
carried  a  sore  spot  in  her  tender  heart  ever  since 
that  day  last  fall  when  Aunt  Susan  was  up 
in  the  garret,  and  not  knowing  that  the  twins 
were  there,  had  kissed  the  tiny  sliirt.  Janet 
was  a  little  older  than  the  twins,  and  she  was 
not  quite  sure  that  they  had  understood  cor- 
rectly what  Aunt  Rose  had  said  one  day  after 
Aunt  Susan  had  come  home  from  a  long  walk, 
trying  to  hide  that  she  had  been  crying  —  Aunt 
Rose  had  whispered  that  Aunt  Susan  had  been 
up  to  the  Children  of  the  Hill.  Yes,  plainly, 
to  Janet's  mind.  Ally  had  taken  it  into  her  own 
hands  to  discover  if  they  were  right  or  wrong. 
For  it  was  brave  little  Ally  who,  if  there  was 
anything  to  adventure  about,  always  adven- 
tured. It  was  Ally  to  whom  things  were  always 
happening.  If  there  was  a  scrape  round,  Ally 
was  always  the  one  sure  to  get  into  it,  although 
she  usually  contrived  to  come  out  on  top  — 
except  on  those  two  dreadful  times  of  which 
you  shall  hear  —  for  she  had  a  courageous  little 
spirit  and  a  loving  little  heart.  And  it  was 
this  courageous  spirit,  and  this  loving  heart 
full  of  childish  sympathy  for  Aunt  Susan,  that 
had  taken  Ally  away  now  all  by  herself.  She 
loved  everything  so  much  that  she  had  no 
thought  of  being  harmed  by  anything. 
So  Janet  reasoned. 


8     THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

And  when,  by  and  by,  you  learn  where  she 
had  really  gone,  and  what  it  was  she  brought 
home,  j^erhaps  you  will  think  that  the  result 
of  this  particular  adventure  of  Ally's  was  one 
of  the  pleasantest  things  that  ever  befell  the 
Children  of  the  Valley. 


ALL    THE  PEOPLE. 


11. 

ALL  THE   PEOPLE. 

The  children  had  not  always  lived  in  this 
northern  valley. 

Janet  and  Jack  and  Essie  and  Ally  had  come 
from  the  far  south  —  where  no  snow  fell,  and 
the  only  ice  they  ever  saw  was  made  by  a  ma- 
chine —  to  the  home  of  Old  Uncle  and  Aunt 
Susan,  who  had  lost  all  their  own  children. 
Uncle  Billy  and  Aunt  Rose  had  journeyed 
down  to  bring  them,  after  their  father  and 
mother  had  gone  into  the  country  from  which 
they  never  came  back.  Uncle  Billy  was  a  great 
comfort  to  them  at  that  time ;  he  was  Old 
Uncle's  brother,  and  Aunt  Rose  was  Old  Uncle's 
sister.  Aunt  Rose  was  young  and  pretty  — 
at  least  as  young  and  pretty  as  grown  people 
can  be,  and  wherever  she  was  she  made  every- 
thing bright  and  happy. 

It  was  a  queer  thing,  that  although  Ally  had 
great  blue  eyes,  and  fluffy  yellow  hair,  and  dim- 
ples all  over  her  rosy  face,  and  Essie  had  brown 
eyes,  and  dark  smooth  braids,  and  was  a  trifle 
the  taller,  people  should  always  be  taking  them 


10        TEE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   VALLEY. 

for  each  other,  and  often  had  to  stop  and  think : 
*«  Oh,  no,  oh,  no,  the  brown-haired  one  is  the 
other  one ! " 

Janet's  hair  was  the  most  beautiful  thing  you 
ever  saw ;  although  if  you  heard  anyone  call  it 
red,  you  might  not  tliink  so  till  you  saw  that 
really  there  was  no  red  about  it.  She  wore  it 
in  long  braids,  and  when  it  was  combed  out,  it 
fell  round  her  like  a  cloud  of  chestnut  overlaid 
with  gold  ;  and  her  eyes  were  the  very  same 
color.  "It  isn't  healthy,"  said  Old  Uncle. 
"That  hair  really  ought  to  be  cut."  But  it 
never  was  cut. 

Jack's  hair  was  short  enough  to  make  up  for 
it,  however,  for  it  stood  up  like  a  stiff  hair-brush 
above  his  honest  little  freckled  face.  Poor  Jack, 
in  those  days,  was  usually  to  be  seen  going 
round  vntli  a  string  tied  to  one  of  his  front  teeth, 
which  he  was  going  to  fasten  to  an  open  door 
and  then  slam  the  door,  so  that  the  tooth  would 
come  out  quickly  —  just  as  soon  as  he  could 
make  up  his  mind  to  it. 

The  four  children  from  the  south  had  missed 
their  own  dear  people  exceedingly  at  first ;  Ally 
and  Essie  crying  themselves  to  sleep  in  each 
other's  arms,  and  Janet  getting  up  several  times 
to  see  that  they  were  covered,  like  a  little 
mother  herself,  and  Jack  creeping  into  Will's 
bed,  because  he  had  a  lump  in  his  throat,  he 
said. 

But  the  novelty  of  new  surroundings  had 
gradually  worn  away  their  sorrow  and   home- 


ALL   THE  PEOPLE,  11 

sickness.  Charlie  and  Will  were  very  conde- 
scending and  kind  —  they  were  Aunt  Susan's 
nephews,  and  had  lived  here  ever  since  they 
became  orphans  —  and  Aunt  Susan  had  said 
that  where  there  was  room  for  her  people  there 
was  room  for  all  of  Old  Uncle's.  Michael  was 
delightful  with  fairy  stories  out  of  Ireland. 
Pincher  told  them  of  blood-curdling  happenings 
in  the  woods.  And  the  maids  were  very  choice 
people.  Aunt  Susan  always  had  sweeties  and 
dainties  for  them.  Uncle  Billy  was  great  fun 
when  he  chose. 

It  was  only  Old  Uncle  who  was  a  di-awback. 
For  this  sound  disturbed  Old  Uncle's  nap,  and 
that  sound  hindered  Old  Uncle's  work,  and  the 
other  sound  irritated  Old  Uncle's  nerves ;  and 
the  children  tiptoed  and  held  their  breath  as 
they  went  past  his  office-door,  and  everybody 
hushed  them  down  and  hushed  them  down 
on  account  of  Old  Uncle,  until  Jack  said  one 
day,  "  They  don't  really  like  children  here  at 
all!'' 

"It  is  very  unfortunate  to  be  children,  any- 
way," said  Janet,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ally.  "  They  always  send  you 
to  bed  if  there's  anything  going  on ;  and  they 
say  it  isn't  good  for  you  if  there's  anything  nice 
to  eat ;  and  they  send  you  out  of  the  room  if 
there  are  secrets,  or  else  they  spell  or  talk 
French  or  something." 

"  They  say,  '  Do-grey  they-grey  hear-grey,'  " 
said  Essie. 


12         THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

"  And  '  Do-hoolty  they-aylty  liear-ealty,'  " 
said  Janet. 

"  It's  very,  very  exsulting  to  children,"  said 
Ally. 

"  But  we  can't  help  being  children,"  said 
Jack. 

"  And  they  can't  help  not  liking  children," 
said  Essie.  "  I  suppose  the  reason  we're  called 
children  is  because  it  gives  people  a  cold  chill 
to  hear  us  coming." 

"  Well,"  said  Janet,  repenting,  "  I  suppose  we 
could  7nake  them  stop  not  liking  us.  I  suppose 
we  could  be  so  careful  and  so  quiet  that  they'd 
tliink  it  lovely  to  have  us  round." 

"  Let's,  then  !  "  cried  Ally. 

But  Jack  said  Janet  was  too  good  to  live. 

However,  for  a  little  while  they  all  went 
about  softly,  till  Michael  called  them  to  see  a 
little  furry  brown  bat  clinging  to  the  under-side 
of  an  apple-bough,  at  which  strange  sight,  and 
with  subsequent  endeavors  to  capture  the  sleepy 
thing  that  woke  and  fluttered  just  a  bough 
higher  every  time,  the  little  knot  of  southerners 
forgot  their  good  resolution. 

There  was  always  a  time  of  comparative 
peace,  though,  after  breakfast,  when  Aunt  Rose 
kept  school,  and  also  another  hour,  after  their 
dinner.  But  when  the  restraint  of  lessons  was 
removed,  they  poured  forth  to  play  again  with 
such  a  joyous  outcry  that  Old  Uncle  always 
rose  and  closed  his  door. 

There  was  another  rapturous  season  of  peace, 


ALL   THE  PEOPLE.  13 

—  on  Sunday  mornings  when  they  were  waiting 
for  the  carryalls  to  take  them  to  church.  Janet 
stepped  about  the  gardens,  with  the  others 
at  her  heels,  getting  as  pale  and  dehcate  a 
zinnia  as  she  could  find,  to  pin  in  the  ruffle  of 
her  pretty  Avhite  gov/n,  and  a  stem  of  thyme  for 
Jack,  and  a  sprig  of  southernwood  for  Will,  and 
a  bit  of  citronella  for  Charlie  ;  the  twins  fora- 
ging for  themselves  among  the  late  honeysuckles 
and  early  cosmos. 

They  enjoyed  the  drive  to  church.  They 
went  in  the  carryalls,  drawn  by  the  three  span 
of  farm-horses  in  the  driving  harnesses.  Janet 
felt  it  was  like  a  picnic  when  they  drove  away 
from  the  piazza  in  the  three  carriages,  one  after 
the  other.  It  was  wrong  of  Janet,  no  doubt,  to 
think  of  a  picnic  on  a  Sunday  morning;  but 
there  certainly  was  a  gala  air  about  the  little 
procession,  with  so  many  children  in  their 
flowers  and  ribbons,  and  their  beautiful  hair. 

They  enjoyed  the  day  at  church;  they  en- 
joyed seeing  the  people ;  they  enjoyed  rambling 
in  the  old  neglected,  bramble-covered  graveyard 
near  by,  if  they  arrived  too  early  ;  they  enjoyed 
tuning  up  their  own  little  pipes  in  the  singing 
of  the  hymns. 

There  was  room  for  them  all  in  Old  Uncle's 
big  square  pew,  but  part  of  them  sat  across  the 
aisle.  Six  children  were  too  many  for  one  pew. 
Six  turning  young  heads  !  six  pairs  of  knocking 
young  heels !  twelve  restless  elbows  !  It  was 
not   to   be  thought  of.     Old  Uncle  sat  in  one 


14        THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   VALLEY. 

pew  with  three  of  them,  and  Aunt  Susan  across 
the  aisle  with  the  rest.  Uncle  Billy  and 
Aunt  Rose  sat  farther  back,  and  were  able  to 
report  on  the  general  behavior  when  all  reached 
home. 


WHAT   THE    TWINS  FOUND.  15 


III. 

WHAT   THE   TWINS    FOUND. 

The  mountains  had  been  a  great  source  of 
interest  at  first  to  the  children,  who  had  never 
before  seen  anything  but  boundless  savannas. 
The  vast  blue  and  purple  shapes  seemed  to  be 
some  strange  sort  of  great  Uve  creatures  lying 
crouched  against  the  sky ;  and  they  had  a  little 
awe  if  not  fear  of  them. 

Even  when  they  became  familiar  enough  to 
perceive  that  one  pasture  led  to  another  up 
tlieir  sides,  and  to  know  various  of  the  tum- 
bUng  black  and  white  brooks  by  name,  they 
still  felt  that  the  mountains  were  ahve,  in  some 
mysterious  way.  And  the  fact  that  there  were 
bears  and  panthers  in  the  caves  and  recesses  of 
the  purplest  of  the  hills,  lent  a  shivery  sense 
of  danger,  particularly  for  Essie  ;  for,  reasoned 
Essie,  how  could  the  mountains  be  kind  to 
bears  and  wolves,  and  kind  to  children  also? 
Yet  at  the  same  time  the  fact  that  Old  Uncle 
owned  great  tracts  of  their  heights  and  depths, 
and  had  his  logging  teams  and  men  in  the 
forests  in  winter  getting  out  the  lumber,  gave 
the  children  a  cosy  feeling  as  if  they,  too,  had  a 


16    THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

sort  of  proprietorship  in  them,  and  even  in  the 
remote  wild  beasts. 

The  late  summer  of  their  first  year  north  had 
brought  the  little  people  a  great  deal  of  pleasure. 
More  than  once  Uncle  Billy  had  taken  them  all 
in  a  skiff  down  the  river,  slipping  along  on  the 
current,  and  then  poUng  in  shore.  They  had 
kindled  a  fire  on  the  bank,  and  joyously  cooked 
their  own  dinner.  Uncle  Billy  had  caught  trout, 
and  Aunt  Rose  had  broiled  them,  while  they 
picked  the  berries.  After  dinner  they  had 
burned  the  remnant,  and  washed  the  dishes 
together. 

They  had  gone  up  the  hills,  too,  on  so  many 
picnics,  and  seen  what  had  looked  so  blue  and 
so  far  turn  into  woods  and  fields  and  lonely 
farms  that  they  had  left  off  expecting  to  see  a 
bis"  bear  reach  over  their  shoulders  for  their 
bread  and  honey.  In  fact,  by  this  time  they 
almost  wished  they  might  see  one,  and  Essie 
and  Ally  had  many  a  delightful  bear-talk  with 
Pincher. 

One  day  Ally  and  Essie  were  out  by  them- 
selves gathering  autumn  leaves,  which  had  come 
as  a  great  surprise  to  their  southern  eyes  ;  first 
making  them  think  the  woods  afire,  and  then 
that  the  world  would  not  be  a  green  world 
any  more. 

They  had  a  large  basket  with  them,  with  a 
handle  at  either  end,  so  that  they  might  lay  in 
twigs  and  small  branches  as  well  as  single 
leaves ;    and  afterwards    they    were   glad  that 


WHAT   THE   TWINS  FOUND.  17 

they  had  brought  that  peculiar,  particular 
basket. 

They  had  it  nearly  half  filled  Avhen  they 
began  to  feel  tired.  They  had  been  over  the 
ground  before  and  so  were  familiar  with  it;  and 
Ally  pointed  out  their  favorite  resting-log,  and 
they  made  their  way  to  it  and  sat  down.  It 
was  covered  with  thick,  velvet-green  moss,  and 
Ally  sank  into  the  deep  cushion  with  a  luxu- 
rious coo. 

At  the  same  moment  she  felt  her  feet  touch- 
ing so 'ne thing  very  soft.  It  was  a  dim,  shady 
plaoe,  and  sha  peered  down  curiously.  The 
next  minute  she  was  on  her  knees  in  the  grassy 
hollow,  and  Essie  saw  her  with  both  arms 
round  the  very  dearest,  softest,  hairiest  little 
creature  alive ! 

"  Oh,  Essie,"  cried  Ally,  "  just  see  what 
we've  found  I   Oh,  what  do  you  suppose  it  is  ?" 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  cried  Essie,  "  isn't  it  a  dear !  " 

'*  Isn't  it  a  dear !  "  echoed  Ally.  "  I  just 
love  it!" 

"  So  do  I  love  it !  Let  me  feel  it !  "  cried 
Essie,  down  in  the  hollow  too,  and  half  crowd- 
iug  Ally  away,  to  get  her  own  arms  round  the 
little  animal.    "  Do  you  think  it  is  a  little  fox  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  Essie  —  foxes  are  yellowish.  And 
it  can't  be  a  wild-cat  —  wild-cats  have  blazing 
eyes,  and  they  scratch.  This  is  a  soft  sleepy 
baby,  and  it  isn't  a  panther  —  it  isn't  anything 
cruel  — ■  oh,  isn't  it  cunning  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it's  a    quite  new  sort  of  animal," 


18    THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

said  Essie,  "  and  we  have  found  it  first  of 
anybody ;  maybe  it  is  one  of  the  Bible  animals 

—  a  leviathan,  maybe.  Ally." 

Ally  didn't  answer.  She  was  holding  the 
little  warm  flat  foot  in  her  hand,  and  looking 
the  little  creature  over.  "  I  guess  it's  a  baby 
bear,  Essie,"  she  said.  "  Bears  don't  have 
tails,  you  know,  and  tliis  hasn't.  Uncle  Billyll 
know.  Essie,  if  it  is  a  bear,  it's  our  very  own 
bear,  and  we  can  have  it." 

"  Yes,  we  can,  and  take  it  home !  Oh,  dear 
little  bear !  "  cried  Essie. 

The  children  sat  down  by  the  little  fellow  in 
the  leaves,  and  gave  themselves  up  to  perfect 
delight.  They  examined  his  ears,  and  his  paws 
with  the  long  claws,  and  they  smoothed  and 
poored  his  thick  fur,  and  put  their  faces  down 
to  his ;  and  then  they  rubbed  his  little  stomach 
while  he  lay  on  his  back  with  his  feet  curled  up 
in  the  air,  enjoying  it  all,  winking  and  blinking 

—  the  most  lovable  little  brown  rogue  ever  to 
be  seen  !  Sometimes  he  lay  still,  then  again  he 
moved  in  the  leaves,  sleepy,  snufHing,  nuzzling. 

"  Is  he  too  heavy  for  us  to  carry  ? "  asked 
Ally.  "  If  I  stoop,  and  you  put  his  arms  round 
my  neck,  and  1  take  him  pick-a-back  ?  " 

Essie  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  believe  he 
would  like  to  be  carried  that  way.  What  if 
we  put  him  in  our  basket?  He'd  like  lying 
on  the  leaves." 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Ally.  "  He's  always  lying 
on  leaves  and  grass.     Let's  do  it.    We  oughtn't 


WHAT   THE   TWINS  FOUND.  19 

to  let  him  stay  out  here  in  the  woods  all  night, 
all  alone." 

"Of  course  not,^  said  Essie.  "What  a  bad 
mother  he  must  have  had  to  go  and  leave  him 
here ! " 

"  Perhaps  some  hunter  shot  her,"  said  Ally. 

Pitiful,  the  twins  stroked  him  again  and  put 
their  dear  little  faces  close  to  his  ;  and  the  little 
bear  cuddled  and  snuggled  and  uttered  a  soft 
sound  of  pleasure. 

But  the  soft  sound  quite  changed  its  charac- 
ter when  they  began  to  try  and  lift  the  little  fat 
lump  into  the  basket.  "  Oh,  Ally  I  he's  growl- 
ing !  "  Essie  cried.  "  Hear  him !  "  and  she  went 
off  in  gales  of  laughter ;  it  really  was  amusing 
—  that  little  ineffectual  growl. 

The  children  tuorored  and  luofaed  and  lifted 
and  hauled  him  till  they  had  him  on  the  side  of 
the  half-tipped  basket,  then  they  tipped  it  back, 
and  he  rolled  in,  on  the  leaves.  Next  they 
stripped  off  their  aprons  and  tied  them  across 
the  basket  so  that  he  might  neither  spill  out 
nor  jump  out. 

It  seemed  as  if  they  never  would  get  home. 
One  on  each  side  they  took  the  basket  a  little 
way,  and  then  they  sat  down  to  rest.  Again 
they  lugged  and  tugged  it  a  short  way  farther ; 
and  sometimes  the  little  creature  inside  made 
queer,  uncouth  sounds,  and  they  had  to  stop 
and   soothe    and  stroke  him. 

"  Oh,  he's  sucking  my  fingers,"  suddenly  said 
Ally,   snatching  her  hand  away. 


20         THE  CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

"  That's  how  Pincher  teaches  the  calves  to 
drink,"  cried  Essie,  jo3^ously,  "  and  we  can  give 
him  his  dinner  just  that  way." 

Again  and  again  it  seemed  as  if  they  never 
would  reach  home.  Fortunately  it  didn't  occur 
to  them  that  there  might  be  any  mother-bear 
alive  to  follow  them  through  the  wood,  and 
express  her  fear  and  anger  in  savage  sort,  with 
great  cuffs  of  tremendous  paws  and  cruel,  mur- 
derous hugs.  Cheerfully  they  dragged  their 
burden  along  under  the  warm  noonday  sun, 
pink  and  perspiring,  every  now  and  again 
stopping  for  breath  and  strength,  and  taking  a 
peep  under  the  aprons.  As  for  the  little  animal, 
he  spent  his  own  time  sleeping  for  the  most 
part.  Pie  seemed  so  warm  in  his  fur,  that 
seized  with  a  sudden  fear  lest  he  should  suffo- 
ate,  they  uncovered  him,  just  as  they  came  out 
at  the  foot  of  their  lawn. 


MOTHER  BEAR'S   CALL.  21 


IV. 

MOTHER  bear's  CALL. 

Maria,  from  an  upper  window,  spied  the  chil- 
dren coming,  tugging  the  basket  along. 

She  called  down  to  Old  Uncle  and  Aunt  Susan 
on  the  piazza. 

"  If  them  children  ar'n't  bringing  home  a 
cub ! " 

Old  Uncle  stirred  in  his  hammock.  Annt 
Susan  went  down  the  steps.  "  What  mil 
they  do  next  ?  "  said  Old  Uncle.  As  the  twins 
came  up  with  a  joyful  outcry,  to  exhibit  their 
treasure,  he  rose  and  peered  into  the  basket. 
"  'Tis  a  cub  surely,"  he  said.  He  looked  at 
the  children  from  under  his  shaggy  eyebrows. 
"  Will  you  fetch  in  a  catamount  to-morrow  ?  " 
he  asked  sternly. 

"  We  —  we  thought  you  would  be  pleased," 
Essie  faltered. 

"  Why,  Uncle,"  cried  Ally,  "  why,  Old  Uncle, 
don't  you  love  a  baby  bear  ?  I  just  want  you  to 
see  him  suck  my  fingers  !  You  can't  help  loving 
him  !  " 

"  I  love  you,"  teased  Old  Uncle,  catching  her 
up  to  a  place  in  the  hammock  beside  himself. 


22         THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY 

*'  But  you  can't  keep  him  alive  on  your  fingers, 
even  if  he  only  sucked  up  one  a  day." 

*'  You're  just  funning !  "  said  Ally.  "  Pincher 
knows  how  to  feed  him,  and  so  does  Michael. 
I  reckon  Essie  and  I  could  too." 

"  Old  Uncle,  we  won't  let  him  be  a  bit  of 
trouble,"  said  Essie. 

"  Of  course  he  won't  be  any  trouble,"  said 
Aunt  Susan.  She  and  Aunt  Rose  had  brought 
a  bottle  of  warm  milk  with  a  rag  over  the  top 
of  it.  They  put  it  into  the  little  bear's  mouth, 
and  the  whole  family  gathered  round  to  see 
him  take  his  dinner.  His  grunts  of  satisfaction 
were  very  funny.  At  last  the  little  fellow  let 
go  the  bottle,  stretched  himself,  and  rolled  over 
on  the  grass,  and  looked  so  good-natured  you 
would  almost  have  said  he  was  laughing ;  and 
Aunt  Susan  said,  "A  little  bear  is  a  little  dear!" 

The  cub  must  have  been  pretty  tired  with  all 
the  attention  and  endearments  he  received  that 
day,  not  to  say  anything  about  Master  Will's 
efforts  to  make  him  stand  on  his  hind  legs,  when 
he  tumbled  over  every  time  like  a  mould  of  jelly. 

But  at  last,  and  after  his  supper,  he  was  put 
to  sleep  in  the  shed  on  a  little  truss  of  hay,  under 
an  old  blanket,  where,  as  soon  as  he  was  alone, 
he  began  to  whimper  for  his  mother.  But  the 
children  did  not  hear  him  ;  they  had  trooped 
up-stairs  to  their  own  beds,  all  of  them  as  tired 
as  the  cub  himself,  and  were  presently  sound 
asleep. 

The  great  moon  rose  white  and  solemn  above 


MOTHER  BEAR'S   CALL.  23 

the  hills,  and  poured  her  silver  over  the  forests, 
and  the  whole  world  seemed  asleep  too. 

It  was  just  in  their  first  sweet  slumber 
that  everyone  in  that  house  was  waked  by  the 
strangest,  the  most  melancholy,  the  most  frights 
ful  sound  they  had  ever  heard.  Now  it  was 
loud,  high,  and  shrill.  "  Hoo  !  Hoo  !  Hoo  !  " 
it  came.  Now  it  was  a  long,  low  growl.  Now 
again  it  was  a  series  of  sharp  cries  like  barks. 
Now  it  was  a  roar ;  and  something  was  knock- 
ing about  the  chairs  on  the  piazzas,  scratching 
at  the  windows,  lumbering  down  the  steps  and 
plowing  and  plunging  over  the  grass  —  some- 
thing with  heavy  jaws  and  coming  clap,  clap, 
along  the  front  of  the  house.  Finally  it  made 
off  clumsily  in  the  direction  of  the  shed,  and 
raised  such  an  uproar  there  that  the  sky  rang 
Avith  it. 

Every  one  was  out  of  bed  and  at  the  windows. 
The  twins,  half  hiding  behind  the  curtains  in 
fright,  shivered  as  they  saw  plainly  in  the  moon- 
light a  big  creature  standing  erect,  cuffing  away 
at  the  side  of  the  shed,  and  whining  and  growl- 
ing all  the  more  when  a  little  whine  and  a  little 
yelp  answered  from  within. 

Pincher  saw  the  children,  and  laughed.  He 
Avas  standing  at  the  window  at  the  other  end  of 
the  long  hall. 

"  It's  Mother  Bear,"  he  called.  "  Hear  her  ! 
'  Where's  my  little  bear?'  she's  askin'.  'Where's 
my  baby  ?  You  folks,  give  him  back  or  I'll 
eat  your  babies.      Little  Bruin,  I'm  a-hearin'  of 


24         THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

ye.  Ye  want  your  mammy,  don't  you?  She's 
smelled  ye  all  the  way  here.  How  'm  I  goin' 
ter  fetch  ye  out  blest  ef  I  know  !  But  I'm  ^om' 
ter  fetch  ye  !  I  say  !  Give  me  my  little  bear ! 
He's  a  dreffle  bright  bear !  Ef  you  folks  only 
seen  him  eatin'  of  blackberiies  you'd  know  how 
smart  he  wuz.  Say,  1  jest  can't  lend  him  !  I've 
got  to  get  him  real  fat  'fore  we  go  into  winter 
quarters.  How'd  ye  get  here,  any  way,  ye  little 
scamp?  Can't  1  leave  ye  five  minutes?  Ye 
was  safe  asleep  in  a  soft  holler,  an'  then  w'en  I 
was  wadin'  inter  the  river  with  a  bee- hive  in  my 
arms,  so 's  to  drown  the  bees  an'  git  the  honey, 
off  ye  go  !  Don't  ye  know  little  bears  should 
mind  their  mother?  Oh,  somebody  ink  ye. 
Br-r-r !  I  won't  leave  so  much  as  tlicir  aprons  if 
I  can  lay  paws  on  them  !  that  is,  onless  so  be  it's 
Ally  and  Essie.  But  I'll  hev  to  box  their  ears 
for  'em,  I  guess.  I  say,  now,  folks !  Br-r-r ! 
Br-r-r!  I'll  tear  the  place  down  if  ye  don't  give 
me  my  cub  ! '  " 

"  Oh,  Pincher !  does  she  say  all  that  ?  "  asked 
Ally. 

"  Pincher  !  would  she  tear  the  house  down  ?  " 
cried  Essie. 

"  The  poor  mother !  "  Aunt  Susan  was  ex- 
claiming, hurrying  into  her  dressing-gown  and 
slippers.  And  then  she  and  Old  Uncle  ran  down 
the  back  way,  followed  by  Pincher  ;  and  they 
took  up  the  cub,  and  opened  the  shed-door  a 
crack,  and  pushed  him  through,  and  banged  and 
bolted  the  door  behind  him. 


MOTHER  BEAR'S   CALL.  25 

Everybody  looked  out  that  could.  The  mother 
bear  stood  off  a  moment  on  her  hind  legs.  Then 
she  fell  on  the  cub  like  an  avalanche,  and 
held  him  in  her  arms  as  any  mother  holds  her 
baby,  and  licked  him  from  top  to  toe,  and  lay 
down  and  gave  him  his  dinner.  After  that, 
gazing  back  at  the  house  every  step  or  two  with 
a  growl,  she  lurched  off,  little  Bruin  laboriously 
following.  But  Pincher  declared  that  the  last 
he  saw,  as  he  watched  her  out  of  sight,  she  was 
up  on  her  liind  legs  carrying  her  baby  in  her 
arms  like  anybody. 

The  twins  watched  as  long  as  they  could  see 
her.  Then  Essie  began  to  cry.  "  I  wanted  to 
keep  him,"  she  said,  "  I — I  loved  him  so." 

"  So  did  I,"  said  Ally,  \\dth  her  arms  round 
Essie.  "  But  I  guess,  Essie,  we'll  have  to  get 
along  with  Bobbo.  I  w^onder  how  Pincher  knew 
his  name  w^as  Bruin.  Some  day  we'll  go  into 
the  woods,  and  call  '  Bruin,  Bruin,'  and  perhaps 
he  will  remember  us.  His  mother  loved  him, 
you  know,  Essie.  I  suppose  she  was  so  sorry 
when  she  found  him  o-one.  Mothers  must  have 
their  babies,  you  know,  Essie;  why,  they  belong 
to  them  I  " 

"  If  you  foolish  children  don't  go  to  sleep," 
cried  Uncle  Billy  from  some  remote  quarter, 
"  I'll  call  Mother  Bear  back  !  " 

"  Oh  !  do  you  believe  you  could  ?  "  answered 
Ally.     "  Oh,  Uncle  Billy  I    I  wish  you  would." 


2G         THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE    VALLEY. 


V. 

TWO   LITTLE   CONSCIENCES. 

The  garret  was  a  great  resort  for  the  chil- 
dren whenever  they  were  shut  in  by  storm  or 
chilly  weather,  the  big  chimneys  making  it 
quite  warm  enough  to  play  in. 

Essie  used  to  go  there,  every  now  and  then, 
and  sit  with  Bobbo,  Ally's  tabby  kitten,  in  her 
lap,  or  with  Erminie,  the  white  angora,  and 
dream  her  dreams  among  the  warm  chimneys. 

Often  Ally  would  come  up,  too,  with  her 
dolls.  Sometimes  Will  was  there,  when  he 
had  not  learned  his  Latin,  sent  partly  as  pun- 
ishment, and  partly  that  he  might  study  away 
from  disturbances,  for  at  the  rate  he  was  going 
on  he  would  never  be  ready  for  college. 

But  Will  was  not  there  that  day  when  Essie 
had  been  telling  Ally  her  dreams,  and  Aunt 
Susan  came  up  to  put  something  away,  not 
observing  them  at  all,  as  both  sat  among  the 
chests,  silent  for  the  moment. 

Aunt  vSusan  had  turned  about  to  go  down 
again,  when  an  old  bureau  caught  her  eye. 
She  seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment,  then  stopped, 
and  opened  a  low  drawer.     She  snatched  some- 


TWO  LITTLE   CONSCIENCES.  27 

thing  up  to  her  lips  ;  and  then  she  sank  down 
upon  the  floor,  and  sat  there,  holding  a  little 
yellow  shirt  to  her  face,  and  crying  bitterly. 

For  an  instant  the  two  children  were  fright- 
ened to  see  Aunt  Susan  cry  —  that  very  grave 
and  serene  person  ! 

"  Oh,  it's  her  baby's  I "  Essie  whispered  to 
Ally.  But  though  she  would  have  liked  to 
comfort  Aunt  Susan,  she  sat  still. 

But  the  next  moment  little  Ally  sprang  up, 
ran  to  Aunt  Susan,  and  threw  her  arms  about 
her  neck,  and  brought  her  little  face  round 
upon  Aunt  Susan's  cheek  till  the  tears  wet  it. 
"  Oh,  I  know  just  how  j^ou  feel ! "  she  whis- 
pered. "  I'm  so  sorry  for  you !  was  it  a  dear 
baby?" 

*'  Oh,  you  are  a  dear  baby !  "  cried  Aunt 
Susan,  taking  her  in  her  arms. 

And  perhaps  that  was  the  beginning  of  the 
strong  friendship  between  Aunt  Susan  and 
AUy. 

For  Aunt  Susan  remembered  very  vividly  that 
morning  in  the  garret  on  the  day  long  after  — 
away  over  near  the  end  of  this  story  —  when 
Ally  was  found,  after  the  time  when  she  had 
gone  up,  as  Janet  had  suspected,  to  see  the 
Children  of  the  Hill. 

But  there  were  sunny  days  as  well  as 
stormy  ones,  along  through  that  first  autumn, 
and  often  all  the  children  in  the  house  would 
be  gone  out  nutting. 

At   last  came  the  great  frost,   to  open  the 


28         THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

burrs,  and  Pincher  said  next  morning  that  if 
they  didn't  make  haste  that  very  day  the  squir- 
rels would  gather  all  the  rest  of  the  nuts. 

John  and  Michael  were  spared  to  beat  the 
trees,  and  down  below  the  children  filled  bas- 
kets and  bags.  Squirrels  ran  everyAvhere,  in- 
dignant, darting  aloft  like  streaks  of  light, 
scolding  as  they  sat  with  their  tails  over  their 
heads  among  the  few  golden  leaves  left,  and 
chattering  at  the  children  below. 

Ally  and  Essie,  as  usual,  went  off  by  them- 
selves, Pincher  following  them.  "  The  oxens," 
said  he,  "  alius  go  together,  yoke-fellows,  same 
ez  you  two  do  !  " 

"  Pincher  !  "  suddenly  called  Essie,  "  look 
here  !  " 

"  Oh,  Pincher,  do  I  "  cried  Ally.  *'  Please  do 
look  here  ! " 

"  Well,  that's  what  I  call  luck,"  said  Pincher, 
coming  up  and  stooping  over  the  find  —  a  hoard 
of  nuts  that  some  industrious  squirrel,  whose 
nest  was  probably  in  a  hollow  of  the  tree  above, 
had  stored  among  the  roots  and  dead  leaves  — 
an  enormous  quantity. 

"  Wal,  these  had  orter  do  ye  !  "  said  Pin- 
cher.    "  Ye  couldn't  eat  more  nuts  'n  them." 

Ally  and  Essie  scooped  up  the  nuts  by 
double-handfuls  into  their  baskets,  and  Pincher 
filled  his  bag. 

"Oh!  isn't  this  great.  Ally?"  said  Essie. 
"  Just  think  of  the  nut-candy !  " 

"  And  the  nut-cake  !  "  added  Ally. 


TWO  LITTLE   CONSCIENCES.  29 

"  And  the  nuts  toasted  on  the  end  of  a  hat- 
pin —  oh,  we  mustn't  lose  one  !  "  said  Essie. 

And  full  of  glee,  full  of  eager  greed,  too,  if 
it  must  be  told,  they  didn't  lose  one. 

Pincher  hung  the  bag  on  his  back,  and  car- 
ried the  baskets,  and  the  three  hurried  home 
together.  Pincher  took  the  nuts  up  and  spread 
them  out  on  the  garret  floor  to  diy.  Ally  and 
Essie  fenced  them  off  from  other  stores  that 
might  be  poured  out  there  later,  with  a  dozen 
or  so  of  old  bricks  that  happened  to  be  there, 
Pincher  dragging  up  to  one  end  the  big  hair 
trunk  full  of  gold-laced  soldier's  jackets ;  then 
the  twins  completed  the  barricade  with  a  row 
of  old  school-books  along  the  front. 

The  little  girls  stood  up  and  viewed  their 
possessions  like  two  happy  misers,  and  counted 
up  the  good  things  they  would  do  with  them 
like  two  great  philanthropists  —  so  many  to 
stuff  the  next  turkey  for  Diane,  the  cook,  so 
many  more  for  the  minister's  wife,  and  a  lot 
for  the  old  Avomau  in  the  hollow  across  the 
mountain. 

Ally  and  Essie  awoke  the  next  morning  to 
find  all  the  lovely  breezes  and  melting  weather 
of  yesterday  had  vanished  in  a  fierce  storm  that 
v/as  beating  up  from  the  coast,  tossing  the 
trees,  and  lashing  the  panes  with  rivers  of  rain 
and  cold  sleet. 

Home  never  seemed  any  sweeter  to  the  Chil- 
dren of  the  Valley  than  it  did  that  morning 
as  they  basked  in  the  warmth  of  the  great  fire 


30    THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

roaring  up  the  chimney,  and  rosy  with  well- 
being,  planned  out  their  play  over  their  break- 
fast of  dainty  sausages,  and  buckwheat-cakes 
and  maple-syrup. 

It  was  while  making  sure  of  the  very  last 
drops  of  the  sweetness  on  her  plate,  and  look- 
ing up,  startled  by  a  fresh  fury  of  the  rain 
and  sleet  against  the  window-panes,  that  some 
sudden  disturbing  thought  struck  Essie. 

Essie  had  remembered  the  little  cub,  and  won- 
dered if  his  mother  had  made  him  comfortable 
anywhere !  And  then,  immediately,  she  saw 
in  her  mind's  eye  a  bejiutiful  great  squirrel 
scratching  at  the  big  heap  of  autumn  leaves  at 
the  foot  of  his  tree,  and  stopping,  full  of  con- 
sternation, to  find  his  winter's  store  of  food 
gone,  with  no  dinner  to-day  —  no  dinner  to- 
morrow —  starvation  afterwards  I  And  all  his 
family  I  Oh  I  And  she  had  done  it !  She  and 
Ally  had  done  it !  They  had  robbed  him,  they 
had  left  him  nothing  to  eat  all  winter  I  She 
saw  his  angry  surprise  ;  she  saw  him  scamper 
up  the  tree  to  tell  his  wife ;  she  heard  him 
chattering  over  his  loss  ;  she  saw  him  sitting 
dejected  and  bewildered,  not  knowing  which 
w^ay  to  turn,  and  hungry  !  And  she  and  Ally 
had  had  such  a  nice  breakfast. 

Then  Essie  began  to  sob ;  she  slipped  down 
and  away  from  the  table,  and  out  of  the  room. 

Ally  followed  her  in  amazement,  calling 
and  trying  to  overtake  her,  as  she  ran  up-stairs 
and   up-stairs   to  the  garret  itself,   and    threw 


TWO  LITTLE   CONSCIENCES.  31 

herself,  sobbing  still,  on  the  floor  beside  the 
nuts. 

*'  Oh,  Essie  !  what  is  it  ?  What  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  cried  Ally,  throwing  herself  beside  her. 
"  Does  your  tooth  ache  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  the  squirrel !  the  squirrel !  "  Essie 
moaned. 

**  The  squirrel  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Ally  !  you  and  I  robbed  him  !  We  took 
all  he  had !  Oh,  just  think  of  him  out  in  this 
storm  and  with  nothing  to  eat,  and  his  wife  and 
the  little  squirrels  —  and  they'll  all  die  — 
they'll  starve  ! " 

By  this  time  Ally  felt  it  too,  and  sat  silent, 
staring  at  Essie. 

"  Don't  you  suppose  there's  anythhig  we  can 
do  ?  "  asked  Essie.  ''  I  never  thought  we  were 
so  wicked  !  Oh !  don't  you  think  we  might  car- 
ry the  nuts  back  ?  "  she  implored. 

Ally  sprang  up.  "  Oh,  yes,  we  might,  if 
Pincher  helped  us  !  But  Pincher's  gone  round 
the  mountain  to  the  blacksmith's  with  the 
horses.  Uncle  Billy  is  away  too.  Perhaps  — 
perhaps  Old  Uncle  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  would  be  afraid !  "  said  Essie. 

*'  So  am  I  afraid,"  said  Ally  stoutly.  "  But 
you  stay  here,  Essie.  Oh,  I  wish  Uncle  Billy 
wasn't  always  going  away !  " 

There  was  a  noise  of  discussion  in  Old 
Uncle's  office  when  Ally  timidly  turned  the 
handle  of  the  door,  and  paused  there,  ready  to 


32         THE    CHILDREN  OF    THE    VALLEY. 

Old  Uncle  was  looking  over  some  accounts, 
and  taking  certain  of  his  head-men  to  task  for 
their  short-comings.  "What  is  it?"  he  cried 
sharply,  as  Ally  hesitated. 

"I  —  1  —  Avanted  to  speak  to  yon,"  said 
Ally,  and  Old  Uncle  saw  the  tear  still  lying  on 
her  cheek. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Old  Uncle  to  the  two  men 
whom  he  had  been  arraigning  —  some  would 
say  blowing  up  —  a  moment  before,  "  you  go 
out  to  the  kitchen,  and  tell  Diane  to  give  you 
some  of  her  buckwheat  cakes  and  maple-syrup 
—  Diane  makes  a  good  cup  of  coffee,  too  — 
and  well  see  to  this  later.  But  I'm  not  going 
to  let  any  such  carelessness  pass !  Now,  little 
one ! " 

For  a  moment  Ally  hung  back  —  and  then, 
like  a  burst  of  the  gale  itself,  she  ran  and 
climbed  Old  Uncle's  knee,  and  threw  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  and  told  him  every  word  of  her 
story,  her  little  face  hidden  under  his  chin. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Old  Uncle,  "  that  is  bad. 
But  it  isn't  so  bad  it  can't  be  mended,  may- 
be. Pretty  tough  on  the  squirrel.  Yes,  Ally,  I, 
too,  call  it  cruel." 

"  Oh,  it  is,  it  is  !  "  sobbed  Ally.  "  We  know 
it  is  !     And  Essie  wants  to  take  the  nuts  back." 

"  In  this  storm  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  wouldn't  mind !  " 

*'  But  you'd  be  drenched.  And  you'd  take 
cold." 

"  We'd  rather  I  "  persisted  Ally,  sitting  up. 


TWO  LITTLE   CONSCIENCES.  33 

*'  And  have  to  take  medicine,  and  stay  up- 
stairs in  bed  all  day?  And  you  couldn't  re- 
member the  place  !  " 

'■'  Oh,  yes  we  could ! "  she  cried  eagerly. 
"  We  know  the  very  tree  —  the  old  pine  that 
Pincher  said  was  as  old  as  a  pine  can  be,  and 
that  has  been  struck  by  lightning  so  often. 
The  squirrel  has  his  nest  up  there,  and  the 
nuts  were  in  a  great  hollow  at  the  root.  Oh, 
we  know  the  very  spot ! "  And  Ally's  smile 
now  was  so  bright  that  it  made  her  tears  look 
like  sparks  of  fire. 

^'  And  you  want  to  take  the  nuts  back,"  said 
Old  Uncle.  *' What  for?  Because  you  took 
what  wasn't  yours,  or  because  you  pity  the 
squirrel  ?  " 

"  Oh,  both.  Uncle  !  both  !  And  we  haven't 
eaten  one  ! " 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you've  found  your  con- 
sciences. Almost  all  the  nuts  on  the  trees  and 
lying  on  the  ground  are  yours,  if  you  choose  to 
take  them.  But  the  nuts  that  the  squirrels 
have  laid  away  —  why,  that's  another  story  I 
Let's  see.  It's  a  rather  tough  storm.  Aunt 
Susan  will  be  sure  you'll  be  made  sick  —  I 
tell  you  what  we'll  do.  We  won't  tell  her ! " 
said  Old  Uncle.  "  Where's  the  bag  and  the 
baskets  ?  In  the  garret  ?  Run  up  and  put  the 
nuts  in,  and  then  get  on  your  cloaks  and  leg- 
o"lngs  and  overshoes,  and  your  hooded  water- 
proofs, and  come  down  here,  both  of  you. 
Quietly  now,  quietly." 


34         THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE   VALLEY, 

Ally  danced  back  to  Essie.  And  presently 
the  twins,  and  Old  Uncle  —  loaded  down  with 
bag  and  baskets  —  stole  out  of  the  side-door, 
like  conspirators. 

They  found  the  hickory-wood  without  any 
difficulty,  and  the  old  pine-tree  on  its  farther 
edge,  with  two  scolding  squirrels  far  aloft  in  it. 
Thfi  children  put  back  the  nuts,  and  joyously 
pulled  and  piled  over  them  the  wet  leaves  and 
moss,  scattering  about  a  few  particularly  fat 
ones,  while  Old  Uncle  pictured  to  them  the 
bewilderment  of  Mr.  Squirrel  when  he  should 
find  his  nuts  there  after  all.  He  said  Mrs. 
Squirrel  would  declare  they  must  have  been 
dreaming,  or  else  had  a  bad  nightmare. 

Never  did  rosier  and  happier  little  women 
come  dripping  out  of  a  storm  than  Essie  and 
Ally  that  day. 

"  Oh!"  cried  Aunt  Susan,  meeting  them  in 
the  hall  "where  have  you  three  been?  I'm 
afraid  you've  caught  "  — 

"  Give  them  hot  baths  at  once,  and  let  Maria 
and  Aunt  Rose  rub  them  down  hard,  and  put 
them  to  bed  till  dinner-time,"  said  Old  Uncle. 
"  Tliey  w^ent  off  without  asking  you,  and  must 
be  punished  !  "     But  how  his  eyes  twinkled ! 

"  Oh !  I  just  love  Old  Uncle,  don't  you? " 
asked  Essie,  as  they  slipped  into  the  warm  bed. 

"And  I  guess  he  loves  us  now,"  said  Ally. 
And  they  chattered  until  they  fell  asleep,  and 
woke  only  in  time  for  dinner  and  dumplings. 


AFTER  DARK  ON   THE  ICE.  35 


VI. 

AFTER    DARK    ON   THE   ICE. 

The  nuts  had  not  been  spread  a  great  while, 
and  the  crew  of  loggers  had  gone  up  into  the 
woods,  when  one  day,  well-clad  for  cold  weather 
—  the  girls  in  their  red  cloaks  and  hoods  and 
mittens,  the  boys  in  reefers  and  high  boots  and 
ear-laps  —  Charlie  and  Will  swinging  a  parcel  of 
glittering  steel  things  led  all  the  little  south- 
erners down  to  the  lake. 

"Oh!"  cried  Essie,  "your  Jack  Frost  has 
been  here  too,  and  has  turned  our  blue  lake 
into  silver ! " 

"  It's  like  Achilles'  shield,"  said  Janet,  who 
was  tumbling  round  by  herself,  trying  to  slide. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Achilles  ? " 
laughed  Will. 

"  I've  heard  you  reading  to  Uncle  Billy. 
Perhaps  I  know  as  much  as  you  do,"  said  Janet 

slyly. 

"  Well,  then  you  don't  know  much,"  retorted 
Will,  buckling  his  last  strap. 

What  witchcraft  it  seemed  to  the  younger 
children,  when  they  themselves  tottered  this 
way  and  that,  trying  to  keep  their  balance,  fall- 


36         THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   VALLEY. 

ing  and  bumping  and  bruising  themselves  con- 
tinually, to  see  Charlie  and  Will  wheeling  in 
figure-eights,  leaning  far  over  on  the  outer  roll, 
cutting  their  names  in  the  ice,  and  sliding  off 
like  flying-fish ! 

"  Ho  I  I  can  do  that !  "  cried  Jack,  stamping 
his  skate  into  the  ice.     And  over  he  went  I 

Aunt  Rose  took  Ally  and  Essie  by  either 
hand,  and  swept  off  with  them,  their  little  feet 
close  together,  so  that  they  really  thought  they 
were  skating ! 

"  It's  most  like  flying,"  said  Essie,  delight  in 
her  eyes,  her  cheeks  like  red  apples,  while  Ally, 
looking  straight  ahead,  was  silent  with  joy,  her 
yellow  hair  streaming  out  behind  her. 

Janet  went  blundering  about  alone  a  long 
time,  somehow,  anyhow,  and  all  at  once  finding 
herself  firm  on  her  feet,  and  making  a  stroke. 
Then  the  dinner-bell  rang,  and  the  skates  had 
to  come  off.  But  after  the  lesson-liour  they 
were  out  again,  for  the  afternoon  —  except 
Will,  who  was  behind  with  his  Greek.  And 
after  they  had  spent  all  the  spare  hours  of  a 
week's  time  on  the  ice,  they  were  so  expert  that 
they  felt  like  a  flock  of  birds. 

It  was  dark  early  at  that  time  of  the  year, 
and  one  afternoon  what  was  their  surprise  to 
see  Uncle  Billy  and  Charlie  building  a  fire 
on  the  lake.  "  Oh,  they  are  going  to  melt 
the  ice !  "  cried  Jack ;  and  all  the  others 
echoed  his  words  in  alarm,  and  started  for  the 
shore. 


AFTER  DARK   ON   THE  ICE.  37 

"  Pooh !  "  said  Charlie.  "  How  tliick  do  you 
suppose  this  ice  is?  " 

"  An  inch  ?    Two  inches  ?  "  inquired  Janet. 

"  Will  measured  it  at  the  outlet,  and  he  says 
it's  twenty -four." 

"  I  wish  Will  knew  his  Greek  as  well  as  he 
knows  a  lot  of  other  things,"  said  Uncle  Billy. 

"I  don't,  though!"  said  Will.  "And  I 
don't  know  that  I  want  to,  anyway.  I  don't 
want  to  go  to  college.  I  want  to  go  logging 
in  the  woods." 

"  He  wants  to  be  a  dunce.  Would  you  be- 
lieve it?"  said  Uncle  Billy.  "Essie,  what  do 
you  suppose  we  are  building  this  fire  for?  For 
fun,  Ally  ?  To  warm  your  toes,  Janet  ?  Jack, 
what  do  you  suppose  lives  under  this  ice  ?  " 

Near  the  fire  Uncle  Billy's  big  chisel  was 
cutting  a  hole  through  the  solid  floor,  and 
Charlie  was  cutting  another  a  little  bigger. 

"  The  most  onluckiest  hole  ye  iver  cut,  so 
it  is,"  Michael  said  afterward  to  Charhe. 

When  the  holes  were  ready  Uncle  Billy  began 
to  bob  strings  in  the  dark  unseen  water.  In 
a  moment  more  Janet  was  bobbing  one  too. 

"  He'll  pull  me  under !  Oh,  he'll  pull  me 
under !  "  she  suddenly  cried  out,  as  she  felt  a 
big  twitch  on  her  hook.  *'  Come  help  me,  some- 
body!    He'll  pull  me  down  into  the  hole ! " 

Uncle  Billy  put  his  hands  over  Janet's,  and 
together  they  brought  up  a  royal  fighting 
pickerel. 

All  the  other  children,  still  fiourishing  round 


38    TEE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   VALLEY. 

on  tlieir  skates,  swarmed  up  then  to  see  the  big 
creature  Janet  had  caught,  and  to  beg  for  hooks 
and  lines  themselves.  And  in  a  moment  —  oh, 
horror !  what  was  this  ?  Essie  had  skated 
straight  into  the  hole  Charlie  had  cut.  There 
was  a  wild  cry  from  Essie,  as  she  plunged,  a 
wilder  one  from  all  the  otliers. 

But  on  the  instant  Uncle  Billy  had  flung  him- 
self across  the  hole,  and  with  both  arms  down 
in  the  still  cold  water  had  caught  hold  of  her. 
Then  crawling  away,  with  Charlie's  help  he 
lifted  her  to  the  top  and  out  upon  the  ice,  quite 
conscious,  but  terribly  scared,  and  as  wet  as 
any  seal. 

Accidents  never  come  alone,  says  an  old 
proverb ;  and  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that 
Ally  should  not  have  her  share  in  any  dangers 
going. 

Before  Essie,  shivering  in  every  atom  of  her, 
had  fairly  been  set  upon  her  feet,  another  shriek 
rang  upon  the  air. 

"  I'm  all  afire  !  Uncle  Billy,  I'm  afire  !  " 

And  there  was  Ally  wrapped  in  a  blaze,  that 
made  every  one,  for  a  single  heart-beat,  stone 
still  with  terror ! 

For  in  moving  quickly  on  her  skates  away 
from  the  hole  where  Uncle  Billy  was  drawing 
poor  little  Essie  out  of  the  water,  Ally  had 
backed  straight  into  the  fire,  which  caught 
her  skirts  instantly  ;  and  no  one  knows  what 
might  have  happened  if  Charlie  had  not  rushed 
and  thrown  her  down,  and  tossed  his  coat  over 


AFTER  DARE    ON   THE  ICE.  39 

her,  and  rolled  and  pressed  and  stamped  out  the 
flame,  although  not  till  it  had  scorched  his  good 
hands  and  burned  poor  Ally's  little  legs.  Per- 
haps he  was  not  very  much  helped  by  Essie's 
running  and  precipitating  herself  and  all  her 
wetness  on  them  both. 

"  Well,"  said  Uncle  Billy,  "  here's  a  chapter 
of  accidents !  "  And  Essie,  wet  and  freezing, 
and  Ally  with  her  two  blistered  legs  and  burned 
and  ragged  woolens,  were  huddled  in  the  great- 
coats and  mounted  one  on  each  shoulder,  and 
Uncle  Billy  ran  with  them  as  if  he  wore  seven- 
league  boots. 

"  I  never  cried  at  all ! "  exclaimed  Ally, 
while  Aunt  Susan  dressed  and  bandaged  her 
burns  —  which,  however,  were  not  very  severe. 

Soon  the  poor  twins  were  lying  snugly  in 
bed,  Essie  in  an  extra  flannel- wrap,  with  hot- 
water  bottles  all  around  her,  and  hot  catnip- 
tea  inside  her. 

"  But  you  screamed.  Ally,"  said  Essie,  "  if 
you  didn't  cry." 

"  And  so  did  you  !  But  that  was  not  crying ! 
I  was  so  exprised.  I  didn't  scream  because  it 
hurt.  It  hurt  me  more  when  you  went  down 
that  hole  !  " 

"  And  I  thought  T  was  afire  when  I  saw  you, 
for  all  I  was  so  wet  and  cold,"  said  Essie.  "  O 
Ally !  I'm  so  glad  j^ou're  saved  all  but  the  backs 
of  your  ankles  !  And  they'll  grow  again,  you 
know." 

"  Isn't  it  good  we're  both  saved  ?  "  said  Ally 


40        THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   VALLEY. 

cosily.  "  Oh,  Essie,  keep  your  feet  right  on 
the  hot  soap-stone  !  Only,  please  don't  touch 
the  back  of  my  legs  !  They  do  smart  a  little. 
What  you  going  to  dream  about?  Are  you 
awake  ?  I'm  going  to  dream  I  went  into  the 
garden  and  there  —  atop  of  a  —  big  rose  —  I 
saw  "  —  And  Ally  slipped  away  into  dream- 
land, where  Essie  had  gone  before  her. 


THE  SNOW  HUT.  41 


VII. 

THE   SNOW    HUT. 

It  was  December,  but  all  thoughts  of  Santa 
Claus  were  kept  out  of  mind  by  the  preparation 
of  the  blocks  of  snow  for  the  building  of  the 
snow  hut  in  the  garden.  This  structure  the 
children  from  the  south  could  not  actually 
believe  in  till  they  saw  it  rising.  But  it  w^as  a 
real  hut,  with  a  roof,  with  a  low  doorway,  with 
a  window  of  thin  ice,  with  a  cliimney  —  a  chim- 
ney that  could  have  a  fire  in  it !  It  seemed  to 
the  children  from  the  south  that  they  were 
living  in  a  wonder-world  ! 

But,  either  owing  to  the  fire  in  the  chimney 
or  to  a  short  season  of  i^haw,  the  roof  of  their 
hut  one  day  fell  in.  It  then,  almost  immedi- 
ately, became  a  fort  to  attack  and  to  defend  over 
the  battlements.  The  cliildren  organized  into 
two  parties,  for  assault  and  repulse,  with  soft 
snow-balls,  broken  icicles  for  spears,  and  baskets 
for  shields. 

It  was  a  little  hard  for  them  to  divide  into 
two  parties.  It  was  hard  for  Ally  that  Jane 
took  Bobbo  inside  the  fortification  —  Ally's  cat, 
you  remember.  It  was  just  as  hard  for  Janet 
that  Bose  and  Diamond  —  her  dogs  —  belonged 


42    THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

to  the  attacking  party,  and  were  always  its  most 
furious  members,  their  bark  as  good  as  a  war- 
whoop.  And  Essie  might  not  have  forgiven 
Janet  at  all  for  belonging  to  the  other  side  had 
not  it  been  for  the  sappers  and  miners  later. 

Will  and  Jack  and  Janet  were  the  colonists, 
inside  the  fort.  Charlie  and  Essie  and  Ally 
were  the  Indians.  Puss  Bobbo  was  an  Indian 
captive  in  the  fort.  The  dogs  were  allies  of  the 
Indians;  and  the  Indians  were  continually  being 
repulsed  with  great  slaughter,  although  presently 
very  active  again,  for  dead  and  wounded. 

One  morning  during  the  siege,  Bose  hap- 
pened to  find  a  rabbit-hole.  The  snow  had  been 
blown  or  scuffed  away  from  it,  and  into  the 
little  tunnel  of  frozen  earth  Bose  plungexl,  and 
of  course  Diamond  after  him  ;  and  along  it  both 
made  their  way,  scratching  and  burrowing  and 
yelping  with  all  their  might.  Suddenly  their 
movements  were  heard  inside  the  fort,  which 
had  been  built,  it  seems,  directly  over  the 
rabbit  burrow.     Will  gave  the  alarm. 

"  Sappers  and  miners  !  sappers  and  miners  ! 
The  enemy  are  upon  us !  " 

"  Oh  !  Ave  are  lost !  "  cried  tlie  garrison. 

And  then  Bose's  head  emerged  in  the  very 
middle  of  the  snow  fort's  floor,  and  the  colonists 
seized  the  dogs  with  tremendous  cheering  and 
also,  it  must  be  owned,  with  any  amount  of 
hugging,  and  held  them  captive. 

This  un warrior-like  conduct  so  displeased 
Bobbo  that  he  sprang  upon  the  battlements  and 


THE   SNOW  HUT.  43 

deserted  to  the  enemy  on  the  instant,  to  the 
great  relief  of  Ally  and  Essie. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Rose  ! "  cried  Essie,  when  they 
went  in  at  night,  "  do  you  believe  the  little 
Esquimau  children  in  their  snow  huts  have  any 
better  time  than  we  do  ?  " 

The  battles  were  renewed  morning  after 
morning,  the  weather  being  bright.  Hostilities 
were  sometimes  suspended  m  order  that  the 
besieged  party  might  sally  out  for  more  snow, 
after  the  way  in  which  the  Samoan  armies  bor- 
row ammunition  of  each  other ;  for,  of  course, 
if  you  want  the  fun  of  fighting,  both  parties 
must  have  munitions  of  war. 

"  I  guess  that  ball  did  the  work  !  "  cried  Jack, 
as  his  missile  hit  the  captain  of  the  Indians 
square  in  the  face.  "  I  put  a  lot  of  'em  in  the 
water-butt  and  then  froze  'em,  last  night." 

"  My  goodness.  Jack !  "  cried  Will.  "  That's 
like  poisoning  wells  in  the  enemy's  country ! 
It's  as  bad  as  shooting  with  poisoned  bullets  ! 
Don't  you  know  ice-balls  might  kill  people? 
Ah,  it  did  do  the  work !  See,  Charlie's  nose  is 
bleeding  !  " 

At  this  Jack  began  to  cry.  "  You're  a  fine 
bawl-baby  for  a  soldier  ! "  said  Will  then  with 
much  scorn.  "  You  going  to  pity  the  enemy  ? 
Why,  I  broke  a  finger  once,  and  never  thought 
of  crying !  Here  they  come !  Ready  now  I 
Aim  low !  Fire ! "  And  the  garrison  over- 
whelmed the  assailants  with  such  a  shower  of 
snow  that  they  retreated  in  disorder. 


44         THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   VALLEY. 

Charlie  rallied  his  men,  however,  in  spite  of 
the  gore  that  reddened  the  field,  and  charged 
again  with  such  vehemence  that  there  was  a 
scream  of  real  pain,  and  then  one  of  his  soldiers 
fell  over  and  lay  still ;  and  it  was  found  that 
Ally  had  fainted  with  a  broken  arm. 

Charlie  carried  Ally  into  the  house,  followed 
by  every  one  of  the  poor  little  people  in  dead 
silence  after  the  first  exclaiming  and  crying,  all 
feeling  like  murderers. 

"  Oh !  is  she  going  to  die  ?  "  asked  Janet,  her 
face  buried  in  the  skirts  of  her  cloak,  and  her 
sobs  making  her  words  something  you  had  to 
guess. 

"  People  don't  die  of  simple  fractures,"  said 
Old  Uncle,  who  knew  something  of  surgery. 
"  But  we  will  send  for  Dr.  Brent.  Keep  the 
arm  cool — not  cold,  remember — till  he  comes." 
And  he  went  for  Dr.  Brent  himself. 

The  doctor  kept  Ally  quiet,  with  Aunt  Rose, 
for  some  days ;  and  everyone  forgot  the  busi- 
ness and  battles  of  the  snow  hut,  and  hung 
about  the  house,  without  lessons  and  without 
games.  Will  used  his  best  exertions  to  commit 
to  memory  the  names  of  the  Greek  ships,  and 
Essie  and  Janet  spent  much  of  the  time  in  tears 
till  Aunt  Susan  took  them  into  the  kitchen 
every  day  for  Diane  to  teach  them  how  to  make 
little  frosted  cakes  and  tarts. 

At  last  the  doctor  allowed  them  to  see  the 
invalid — at  first  one  at  a  time,  and  at  last  all 
together.     One  was  allowed  to  put  cologne  on 


THE  SNOW  HUT.  45 

her  handkerchief,  one  to  change  her  pillows, 
one  to  bring  the  milk  for  her,  and  one  just  to 
hang  over  her  and  kiss  her  now  and  then,  till 
Ally  felt  rather  important,  and  thought  it  wasn't 
such  a  bad  thing  to  have  a  simple  fracture  after 
all. 

"  I  wish  it  had  been  my  arm,"  said  Will,  one 
day,  when  Ally  had  been  brought  down  stairs 
into  the  sitting-room,  and  was  lying  on  the 
louno-e.  "Then  I  shouldn't  have  to  be  bother- 
ing  my  head  about  subjunctives  in  Latin  and 
aorists  in  Greek,  and  dear  knows  what!  " 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  a  supply-team 
was  starting  for  the  logging-camp  in  the  far 
woods.  That  day  Old  Uncle  had  taken  Aunt 
Susan  up  with  him,  in  the  driving-sleigh,  say- 
ing she  really  needed  some  sort  of  an  outing. 

When  Will  had  seen  the  prancing  black 
horses  shaking  off  showers  of  bsll-tones,  he  had 
begged  hard  to  go,  and  harder  still  when  he 
heard  there  was  a  hatchet  and  knife  in  the 
sleigU,  and  saw  Old  Uncle  examining  his  revol- 
vers, there  being  a  rumor  of  wolves  on  the  way, 
although  probably  a  baseless  rumor.  But  Will's 
entreaties  had  been  promptly  silenced,  and  he 
was  told  that  he  must  stay  and  attend  to  his 
lessons  if  he  wanted  to  enter  Bowdoin  year 
after  next. 

Well,  Will  didn't  want  to  enter  Bowdoin. 
He  wanted  to  go  to  the  logging-camp.  Year 
after  next  Avas  a  great  way  off.  The  woods, 
the  life  there,  the  stories,  the  games,  the  hunt- 


46         THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   VALLEY. 

ing  for  bears,  the  gathering  of  gum,  the  deer- 
hunt,  the  escape  from  panthers  or  gray,  gaunt 
wolves,  the  coming  down  with  the  drive  in  the 
spring,  the  jam  of  the  logs  at  the  falls  with  the 
raftsmen  skipping  round  on  them  as  lightly  as 
Mercury  in  the  mythology,  handling  them  with 
long  hooks;  and  springing  for  dear  life  as  one 
dexterous  thrust  loosened  the  whole  mass  and 
sent  them  rearing,  rolling,  plunging,  and  shoot- 
ing over  the  cataracts,  —  all  that  was  close  at 
hand.  And  Will,  as  he  thought  of  it,  was 
bound  to  be  a  lumberman. 

"  I  want  to  go  up  and  stay  all  winter,  and 
come  down  on  the  drive  and  shoot  the  rapids," 
grumbled  Will,  when  he  went  in.  "  And  I 
might  bring  home  a  caribou's  horns  and  a  cata- 
mount's pelt." 

*'  You  !  "  said  Charlie.  *'  A  catamount  would 
tear  you  to  bits  with  his  great  claws  before  you 
could  run  !  You'd  be  scared  to  death  nights 
just  hearing  him  cry  round  the  camp  !  " 

"  Will,"  said  Aunt  Rose,  as  she  gathered  up 
her  work  and  left  the  room,  "  it's  quite  enough 
for  you  to  read  of  the  killings  in  your  Virgil,  if 
you  want  to  reach  Bowdoin  before  you're  gray." 

"  Oh,  Bowdoin,  Bowdoin !  I  don't  want  to 
reach  Bowdoin  !  Ever  !  "  shouted  Will.  *'  I'm 
tired  and  sick  of  hearing  about  Bowdoin. 
I'm  going  to  take  my  nose-money,  and  buy  a 
township  up  in  the  Aroostook  and  cut  off  the 
timber  and  be  a  lumberman,  just  as  much  as  I 
please ! " 


THE  SNOW  HUT.  47 

"  How  many  bears  and  wolves  would  have 
to  be  killed,  do  you  think,"  said  Charlie,  who 
rather  loved  to  tease,  "  before  you've  got  enough 
nose-money  to  buy  a  township  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don  t  bother  me  with  your  sums  !  "  cried 
Will. 

For  the  backwoodsmen  brought  to  Old  Uncle, 
who  was  a  justice  of  the  peace,  the  black  and 
brown  noses  of  the  wolves  and  bears  and  cubs 
wliich  they  destroyed  ;  and  he  gave  them  a  cer- 
tificate which  entitled  them  to  collect  the 
bounty  paid  by  the  State  for  the  kilUng  of 
the  creatures.  Then  he  gave  to  the  children 
the  small  silver  piece  each  man  paid  as  fee,  all 
sharing  the  fund  together.  It  would  require, 
indeed,  quite  an  arithmetical  process  to  tell  just 
when  Will's  share  would  amount  to  enough  to 
buy  one  of  the  plantations  in  the  Aroostook. 

"  I  don't  care,"  continued  Will,  "  I  haven't 
the  making  of  a  scholar  in  me ! " 

"  No  one  has,  without  work,"  said  Charlie, 
going  away  to  learn  his  own  lesson,  as  he  said, 
in  peace. 

"  But  I  should  be  a  very  good  —  " 

"  You  just  be  a  very  good  boy  now,"  said 
Janet,  in  a  patronizing  way,  "  and  mind  Ally  for 
me  while  I  go  and  get  my  eggs.  I  found  old 
Speckle's  nest  yesterday." 

Pretty  work  for  a  boy  who  had  "  the  making 
of  a  very  good  logger "  in  him,  who  could 
s  wing  an  axe  in  a  circle  round  his  head !  He 
pretended  not  to  see  when  Ally  held  out  her 


48    THE    CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

little  hand  to  him  —  the  \yell  hand  —  not  even 
when  her  dear  lip  began  to  tremble. 

He  left  the  room,  and  sauntered  out  into  the 
yard  ;  and  meeting  Janet,  with  her  apron  full  of 
eggs,  he  said,  gruffly:    "Your  sisters  all  alone." 

Then  he  looked  up  the  axe,  and  hacked  at  the 
choppiug-block,  feeling  much  too  ill-humored 
even  to  make  his  chopping  useful  with  kin- 
dling-sticks. 

He  chopped  till  his  blood  began  to  circulate, 
and  he  was  almost  in  a  happy  mood  a\  hen  he 
threw  down  the  axe.  He  had  readied  a  deter- 
mination that  was  highly  satisfactory  to  him- 
self, without  a  thought  of  the  trouble  and 
anxiety  he  was  going  to  give  everyone  in  the 
house. 


A    WILFUL   BOY.  49 


VIII. 

A   WILFUL   BOY. 

The  determination  which  Will  had  made 
was  that  if  he  couldn't  be  allowed  to  go  to  the 
woods  properly,  then  he  would  go  improperly. 

He  would  be  off.  Yes,  sir  —  he  would  be  off, 
just  ahead  of  the  supply-team,  which  had  not 
yet  gone,  and  the  men  would  feel  obliged  to 
take  him  on  when  they  overtook  him.  They 
couldn't  leave  him  there,  and  they  couldn't 
spare  the  time  to  turn  about  and  take  him  home 
—  and  so  he  would  get  to  the  logging-camp  in 
spite  of  everyone. 

As  he  stood  tliinking,  he  heard  Janet,  who 
had  a  pretty  talent  for  music,  at  her  practicing, 
playing  in  cliildish  fashion  the  Spinning  Song. 
He  half  heard  in  it  the  whirr  of  the  wheel,  the 
beat  of  the  treadle,  the  song  of  the  spinning 
girl,  the  rustle  of  leaves  outside  her,  the  hum 
of  bees  and  stir  of  wind,  and  twitter  of  birds  in 
the  branches.  And  that  was  the  last  Will 
heard  and  saw  of  home  that  day.  For  he  put 
on  his  reefer,  pulled  his  sealskin  cap  over  his 
ears,  hung  his  skates  on  his  arm,  and  with  his 
hands   buried  in  his    pockets   went   down    the 


50    THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

field  to  take  a  short  cut  and  get  the  start  of  the 
team. 

Will  felt  himself  very  ill-used.  There  he 
was,  kept  at  his  books,  with  a  woman  to  teach 
him,  and  obliged  to  look  forward  to  a  life  of 
study,  when  he  wanted  to  be  using  his  muscles, 
to  be  shooting  and  trapping,  following  the 
deer,  snaring  small  game  ! 

It  was  very  short-sighted  and  a  great  injus- 
tice on  Old  Uncle's  part,  Will  reasoned;  and 
he  couldn't  see  what  Aunt  Susan  had  been 
thinking  of;  and  he  was  very  indignant  with 
his  Aunt  Rose,  who  had  insisted  on  those  hor- 
rid rules  in  the  subjunctive ;  and  as  for  Janet 
she  could  chop  all  the  Latin  she  wished  —  he 
preferred  to  chop  wood ! 

Nursing  his  wrath,  Will  ran  and  walked  and 
skipped  along.  Reaching  the  highway,  he  got 
a  lift  of  some  miles  by  clinging  to  the  runners 
of  a  surveying  party's  cutter.  He  got  a  bowl 
of  bread  and  milk  at  a  wayside  shanty,  for 
which  he  paid  all  the  pennies  in  his  pocket, 
then  had  another  ride  of  a  couple  of  hours  on  a 
slow  ox-team  laboring  along  to  an  isolated  farm. 

And  now  he  was  already  in  the  woods,  not 
the  deep  forest  of  the  loggers  in  the  remote 
north  —  that  was  still  a  journey  off  —  but 
where  the  highway  was  to  be  guessed  by  the 
open  spaces  between  the  lower  hills,  as  there 
were  no  marks  of  travel  on  the  snow-crust. 
The  air  was  already  obscure,  although  he  could 
see  a  belt  of  sunset  through  the  boles  of  the 


A    WILFUL   BOY.  51 

trees.  He  began  to  have  a  very  desolate  sen- 
sation. 

Will  was  not  afraid  —  oh,  no,  not  he !  It 
was  simply  mighty  lonesome.  He  trudged 
away,  all  the  same,  and  began  to  whistle. 

Presently  he  stopped  whistling.  He  won- 
dered why  the  supply-team  did  not  come  along. 
Had  he  made  a  mistake  —  was  it  to-morrow  noon 
they  had  been  going  to  start?  Pincher  had 
certainly  told  him  tliey  would  be  off  within  the 
hour.  Probably  they  were  only  waiting  for 
Diane  to  put  up  the  cold  beef  and  bottle  the 
coffee.  He  expected  to  hear  the  bells  every 
moment. 

How  surprised  Old  Uncle  would  be  when  he 
saw  him  come  into  the  camp  with  Pincher  and 
Jo  !  How  angry,  too,  perhaps,  at  first  I  But 
the  fact  that  Aunt  Susan  was  along*  would 
counterbalance  that.  AVill  could  see  her  sweet 
serene  face  in  the  white  fur  hood.  Well,  Old 
Uncle  would  understand  how  impossible  it  was 
to  drive  a  boy  out  of  his  bent.  Yes,  he  would, 
sir !  Will  reflected  with  pride  that  now  he  had 
taken  things  into  his  own  hands,  and  walked 
on  with  great  resolution.  For  a  fellow  who 
had  taken  things  into  his  own  hands  could  not 
afford  to  be  down-hearted  because  the  road  was 
lonely,  long,  or  dark.  If  he  was  —  he  would 
not  say  the  word  "  afraid "  even  to  himself. 
Well,  if  he  was,  what  would  he  be  in  the  deep 
woods  of  the  caribou  and  the  catamount? 
Thereat    a  picture  came    before  his  eyes  of   a 


52    THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   VALLEY. 

huge  caribou  plunging  down  the  forest-depths 
with  great  bounds,  his  nostrils  dilating,  his 
black  eyes  burning,  his  mighty  horns  laid  back 
along  his  shoulders  ;  and  if  ever  any  one  was 
glad  it  was  Will  when  he  heard  a  far-off  tinkle, 
and  presently  a  peal  of  sledge-bells,  and  turned 
about  and  stood  still  to  meet  the  supply-team 
with  Pincher  and  Jo. 

"  Wal,  he's  a  chap  of  speerit,  I  vum  ! "  cried 
Pincher,  when  the  boy  in  tlie  middle  of  the  way 
raised  his  hand  to  halt  the  horses.  "  I  do' 
'no's  we  got  any  thin'  ter  du  but  ter  take  him 
on.     But  I  guess  we'll  cure  him  ! " 

"  or  man  '11  be  mad,"  suggested  Jo  —  Old 
Uncle  wearing  that  appellation  on  account  of 
his  mastership,  by  no  means  on  account  of  his 
years. 

"  Can't  leave  the  boy  here  in  this  woodsy 
place,  and  night  comin'  on,  if  he  is,"  said  Pin- 
cher. "  Pretty  kittle  o'  fish  !  Up  with  ye, 
youngster !  " 

Tucked  under  a  lot  of  horse-blankets  on  top 
of  the  load.  Will  knew  but  little  more  till  late 
the  next  morning.  Then  he  found  they  were 
still  jogging  on.  He  had  a  vague,  delightful 
memory  of  a  misty  scene  of  swinging  lanterns 
and  shouting  voices,  and  of  their  changing 
horses  in  the  middle  of  the  night  at  the  remote 
half-way  house. 

Feeling  a  little  stiff  and  sore,  he  stretched 
himself,  and  got  down  to  walk  a  bit  and  limber 
UD  with  Pincher.     And  he  found  the  cold  beef 


A    WILFUL  BOY.  53 

and  sausage  and  biscuit  and  bottled  coffee  as 
good  as  nectar  and  ambrosia. 

So  they  plodded  on  through  the  day,  with  a 
bite  here  and  a  sup  there.  Just  at  dusk  they 
stopped  in  a  sheltered  spot  where  they  were  to 
camp  for  the  night  m  a  rude  hut  built  there  for 
the  logging-parties. 

"  Well,  this  is  great,"  said  Will,  standing  with 
his  legs  far  apart  in  front  of  the  fire  that  Pin- 
cher  had  snapping  outside  and  sending  up 
whirls  of  sparks.  Pincher  was  cooking  some 
squirrels  he  had  shot. 

After  a  savory  repast,  Will  went  to  sleep  on 
a  pile  of  hemlock-boughs,  covered  with  another 
pile.  He  seemed  to  be  on  the  brink  of  sur- 
prising experiences.  When  Jo  waked  him  in 
the  first  glow  of  red  sunrise  through  the  chinks, 
he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  floating  on  a  cloud  in 
the  upper  sky. 

''  We  must  hurry  up,"  exclaimed  Jo.  "  'T's 
thickening  for  foul  weather."  So  they  broke 
their  fast,  as  they  went  along,  Will  refreshing 
himself  with  a  huge  icicle.  He  felt  that  even 
were  he  sent  back  to  his  books,  and  obliged  to 
learn  all  about  Hector  and  Andromache  by  way 
of  punishment,  it  would  be  a  cheap  price  to  pay 
for  the  joy  and  satisfaction  of  this  trip. 

Still,  as  they  approached  the  camp.  Will's 
heart  w^as  not  quite  as  light,  though  they  were 
welcomed  by  the  baying  of  dogs,  the  chorus  of 
clinking  axes,  and  the  shouts  of  the  men  driv- 
ing the  oxen  that  hauled  the  felled  trees  to  the 


64    THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

lake.  But  it  rose  again  when  he  heard  that 
Old  Uncle  and  Aunt  Susan  had  gone  on  toward 
the  upper  camp,  and  would  not  be  back  for  some 
hours. 

Will  lost  no  time  in  making  himself  familiar 
with  his  new  surroundings  —  the  long  low 
house  of  logs  with  the  bunks  inside,  the  deacon- 
seat  wliere  so  many  good  stories  were  tokl,  the 
huge  fire  where  the  sturdy  little  cook  was  fry- 
ing a  barrel  of  doughnuts  at  a  time. 

"  How  do  you  like  life  here  ?  "  said  he  to  the 
cook. 

"  Firs1>rate,"  was  the  cook's  reply,  as  he 
dropped  his  dough  into  the  fat. 

"  Ever  seen  a  catamount?"  Will  asked. 

"  Cry  round  the  camp  soon's  it's  dark." 

Will's  e3'es  opened  Tvider.     "  Really  ?  " 

*'  Cry  like  a  child  ter  toll  the  men  out." 

*'  Do  the  men  ever  go?  " 

"  WhatYl  they  go  fer  ?  Ter  be  torn  ter 
pieces  ?  " 

"  Say  !     You  got  any  gum  ?  " 

The  cook  pointed  to  a  canister  full  of  the 
daintiest-looking  lumps  of  pink  transparency. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  all  the  venison  you 
want  ?  "  said  Will,  sampling  the  gum. 

"  Jes'  comes  up  and  asks  ter  be  et !  " 

Taking"  a  douphnut.  Will  went  out  to  inves- 
tigate  the  oxen,  the  logging-roads,  and  the  long 
frozen  lake  upon  which  the  logs  were  being 
hauled  to  be  all  afloat  and  ready  with  the  break- 
ing up  of  the  ice  in  the  spring. 


A    WILFUL  BOY.  55 

The  ice  lay  glittering.  In  less  than  no  time 
Will  had  his  skates  on,  and  was  out  careering 
over  the  crystal  glare,  doing  his  fancy  tricks, 
and  speeding  away  from  reach  to  reach  among 
the  islands  with  which  the  great  lake  was 
sprinkled. 

It  was  daylight  much  longer  out  on  the  open 
ice  than  in  the  woody  places.  And  exhilarated 
with  the  glow  of  his  swift  motion,  Will  did  not 
think  anything  about  time  until  he  saw  large 
snow-flakes  dancing  about  him.  When  he 
turned,  he  at  once  noticed  that  what  light  there 
was  was  only  that  of  a  gray  gloaming,  and  that 
a  chill  damp  wind  was  blowing  in  his  face  with 
a  snow-storm  on  its  \yings. 

However,  there  would  be  no  trouble  about 
skating  back ;  and  Will  went  flying  camp  ward 
against  the  wind,  when  the  screw  of  one  of  his 
skates  snapped  and  sent  him  tumbling  headlong, 
rolling  over  and  over.  When  he  had  picked 
himself  up,  and  adjusted  the  skate  again,  he 
could  not  tell  in  which  direction  he  had  been 
going,  up  or  down,  along  or  across  the  lake. 

The  shores  all  looked  alike.  There  were  no 
lights  of  the  camp  to  be  seen,  Avhether  hidden 
by  the  islands  or  by  the  projecting  shores.  Try 
as  he  mig-ht  to  find  the  track  of  his  skates  he 

o 

could  not  see  any,  either  for  the  dim  light,  or 
for  the  snow  that  had  fallen  and  was  covering 
the  lake  more  and  more. 

When  he  had  skated  perhaps  a  mile,  and  still 
saw  no  lights  of  the  camp,  WiU  was    sure  he 


56  THE    CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

had  been  turned  about,  and  he  reversed  liis 
motion  and  went  in  the  other  direction.  But 
still  there  were  no  lights  —  not  a  twinkle  any- 
where, and  when  he  hallooed  no  answer  came 
but  a  far-off  echo. 

Well,  this  would  never  do,  Will  said.  Some 
one  of  all  the  logging-paths  would  lead  to  camp, 
of  course.  He  took  off  his  skates  and  climbed 
the  shore,  and  went  trudging  and  whistling 
along.  Still  no  lights.  But  hadn't  the  camp 
been  on  the  edge  of  the  lake  ?  He  would  wind 
along  the  edge,  then,  and  sooner  or  later  he 
must  come  to  it ! 

But  Will  soon  found  it  more  than  dusky  among 
the  trees ;  and  the  broad  gleam  of  the  lake  was 
gone ;  and  the  main  logging-path  along  the 
shore  was  gone.  He  did  not  know  which  one 
of  all  the  dim  openings  was  the  right  one ;  the 
snow  was  bewildering  ;  it  was  already  dark  ;  he 
was  lost. 


THE   NIGHT-STORM  IN   THE    WOODS.      57 


IX. 

THE   NIGHT-STORM   IN   THE    WOODS. 

When  Will  realized  that  he  was  lost  in  the 
woods,  of  a  stormy  winter's  night,  for  a  few 
moments  he  ran  blindly  forward,  anyhow,  any- 
where, till  he  stopped  simply  because  he  had 
not  another  breath  in  him. 

He  leaned  against  a  tree  then,  to  quiet  him- 
self. Setting  his  wits  at  work  he  remembered 
that  when  he  had  been  skating  away  from 
camp  the  wind  had  been  directly  behind  him. 
If  now  he  faced  the  Avind  he  must  be  facing 
toward  the  camp.  Everything  was  easy  enough, 
after  all. 

But  in  a  few  moments  he  found  that  in 
among  the  eddies  of  the  wood,  face  which  way 
he  might,  he  was  always  facing  the  wind ! 

As  soon  as  he  had  breath  enough  he  shouted 
with  all  his  might,  over  and  over  again;  a  dull, 
faint  echo  answered  him — an  echo  like  a  child's 
cry. 

All  at  once  he  recollected  that  catamount 
tolling  the  men  out  with  a  child's  cry,  and  his 
heart  stood  still.     If  that  sound  were  a  cata- 


58         THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

mount!  He  began  to  run  —  tripping,  stum- 
bling, hitting  outstretched  boughs  and  fetching 
down  on  himself  plunges  of  snow.  Finally  he 
brought  up  against  a  moss-covered  giant  of  the 
wood,  his  lungs  a  furnace,  his  throat  like  burn- 
ing brass. 

He  sat  down  on  a  fallen  log.  The  snow  was 
floating  and  eddying  and  falling  round  him. 
Now  and  again  a  soft  bough  swept  low  and 
touched  his  cheek  in  a  sort  of  cold  caress.  He 
thought  he  would  lie  down  presently  under  the 
lee  of  the  log  and  stay  all  night,  he  was  so 
tired. 

Perhaps  sitting  there,  his  head  bent  on  his 
knees,  Will  did  lose  himself  an  instant ;  for  he 
started  suddenly  as  if  from  a  dream  of  the  Wild 
Huntsman  and  the  Spirits  of  the  Wood  stream- 
ing by  with  lights  and  shouts  in  the  forest. 

He  recalled  directly  Old  Uncle's  once  saying 
that  a  person  lost  in  the  woods  should  on  no 
account  go  to  sleep,  but  should  keep  on  mov- 
ing. He  rose,  pulled  up  the  collar  of  his  reef- 
er, pulled  down  the  ears  of  his  cap,  and  set  out 
to  keep  mo^dng.  He  had  a  singular  feeling  in 
doing  so  that  somehow  he  was  obeying  Old 
Uncle  and  got  a  sort  of  comfort  from  it. 

It  was  a  mild  storm,  but  Will  w^as  obliged 
to  use  a  good  deal  of  effort  to  walk  in  the 
damp  snow.  He  felt  that  he  must  now  be 
really  making  headway  somewhere;  and  he 
trudged  and  trudged  and  trudged,  quite  sure 
his  way  pointed  to  camp  at  last,  for  if  he  were 


THE  NIGHT-STORM  IN  THE    WOODS.      59 

able  to  keep  it  up  and  go  on  lie  rnust  skirt  the 
whole  lake  before  morning,  and  so  come  to  the 
camp.     And  on  he  walked  and  walked. 

His  legs  ached,  his  back  ached,  his  throat 
ached,  his  feet  ached,  his  toes  tingled.  By  and 
by  he  stumbled  over  another  great  log.  What 
was  this?  His  skates  that  he  had  dropped  the 
time  he  had  sat  down  and  had  come  near  fall- 
ing asleep?  Oh,  it  was  the  same  log!  He  had 
come  back  to  it !  He  had  been  traveling  round 
and  round  in  a  circle  ! 

Will  sat  down  on  the  loo;  ao-ain  and  leaned 
against  the  tree.  In  spite  of  himself  the  tears 
spurted  forth.  He  was  lost  in  the  woods.  He 
was  going  to  freeze  and  die  there.  He  was  go- 
ing to  be  buried  in  the  snow.  He  would  never 
see  Aunt  Susan  again.  Oh,  if  he  had  only 
been  good  to  Ally  when  she  held  out  her  little 
well  hand  to  him  the  other  morning !  The 
Spinning  Song,  that  Janet  had  been  playing 
when  he  threw  down  his  axe,  sent  its  sweet 
sound  whirring  in  his  ears. 

Oh,  if  he  could  sit  down  by  Aunt  Rose 
again  with  liis  Greek  !  Oh  !  why  had  he  been 
such  an  idiot  ?  Why  hadn't  he  understood  that 
Old  Uncle  knew  best  ?  How  tired  he  was ! 
How  hungry  he  was  !  Why  had  he  left  Aunt 
Susan's  broiled  chicken  and  slices  of  bread  and 
jam,  his  own  white  bed,  that  crackling  fire  on 
the  old  winking  and  blinking  knights-at-arms 
andirons,  the  boys'  games,  little  Essie  and 
Ally?     Even  Erminie  and  Bobbo,  who  regarded 


60    THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

him  as  tlie  torment  of  their  lives,  seemed  dear 
to  him  at  that  moment.  Oh !  was  it  true  that 
they  were  all  so  happy,  so  warm,  so  comfort- 
able, never  dreaming  of  him  alone  and  lost  and 
dying  in  these  dark  stormy  woods  full  of  wild 
beasts ! 

Yes.  It  was  all  up  with  him.  He  had  been 
a  wicked  boy ;  he  must  take  what  came.  But 
how  they  would  all  feel !  Ally  and  Essie  would 
cry  fit  to  break  their  hearts.  Old  Uncle  and 
ITncle  Billy  —  oh,  it  would  be  dreary  in  the 
Valley  I  And  his  dear,  dear,  dear  Aunt  Susan, 
the  only  mother  he  had  ever  known  • —  the  im- 
age of  her  pale  sweet  face  was  too  much  for 
him,  and  he  was  crying  himself  with  all  his 
might.  And  then,  wearied  out,  and  sending  up 
now  a  prayer  to  Heaven  that  he  might  not  die, 
and  now  a  prayer  that  they  might  not  feel 
too  bad  at  home  —  all  at  once  he  was  sound 
asleep,  and  the  great  hemlock- tree  was  bending 
down  its  branches  heavy  with  snow  about  him, 
and  sheltering  him. 

When  at  last,  aroused  by  a  disturbance  about 
him,  the  cry  of  voices,  the  blast  of  horns, 
the  flash  of  lanterns.  Will  sleepily  opened  his 
eyes  again,  he  might  have  thought  it  was 
heaven,  with  some  great  light  glowing  on  a 
heavenly  spirit's  face,  only  that  he  knew  he 
deserved  nothing  of  that  sort  I  In  another 
moment  he  saw  that  it  was  Aunt  Susan,  and 
without  asking  how  she  came  there  he  threw 
himself  into  her  arms. 


THE  NIGHT-STORM  IN   THE    WOODS.      61 

The  facts  in  the  case  were,  that  when  Will 
had  not  returned  to  the  camp  there  had  been 
an  alarm  given.  The  whole  body  of  men  had 
gone  out  in  search-parties  after  him  and  Pinch- 
er ;  for  Pincher,  too,  was  gone.  It  was  one 
of  these  parties,  passing  in  the  distance,  that 
had  given  Will  his  instant's  dream  of  the  Wild 
Huntsman. 

And  Old  Uncle,  driving  down  from  the 
upper  camp,  with  a  jingle  of  bells  and  flashing 
of  sleigh-lamps,  was  passing  just  as  a  group  of 
the  men  had  paused  wondering  at  the  place  not 
far  from  the  wayside  where  for  a  circle  of  some 
hundred  yards  in  diameter  the  snow  was  some- 
what trodden  down  around  the  old  post-office 
tree  (the  very  circle  where  poor  Will  had  done 
his  tramping),  and  naturally  Old  Uncle  had 
stopped  and  come  to  see  what  was  the  cause  of 
the  excitement.  Aunt  Susan  had  alighted  too, 
and  followed,  and  had  been  first  of  all  to  see 
Will  in  beneath  the  broad  hemlock  boughs. 

In  that  moment  of  joy  and  relief  and  grati- 
tude. Will  never  noticed  the  big  pea-jacket 
that  had  been  spread  over  him  and  from  A^hich 
Pincher  was  shaking  the  snow. 

"I'll  —  I'll  go  to  Bowdoin,  Uncle,"  Will  was 
saying,  standing  between  Old  Uncle  and  Aunt 
Susan.  "I'll  —  I'll  learn  the  lines  of  the  Greek 
ships  by  heart.     I'll  —  I'll  go  to  Bowdoin  !  " 

Then  he  was  in  the  sleigh,  cuddled  under 
the  robes,  ready  for  the  drive  to  the  lean-to  of 
bark  and  boughs  beside  the  long  low  log  house 


62         THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

of  the  camp,  where  Old  Uncle  and  Aunt  Susan 
were  going  to  rough  it  for  the  night. 

"  I  guess  he's  cured,"  muttered  Pincher  to 
Old  Uncle,  handing  up  the  reins.  "  I  guess  he's 
cured.  I  ain't  been  fur  off  none  er  the  time. 
And  I  guess  he's  hed  all  he  wants  o'  loggin.' 
And  I'll  warrant  he  won't  run  away  to  sea, 
nuther  !    He's  cured." 


THE   CHRISTMAS -TREE    OiV    THE   CLIFF.    63 


THE   CHRISTMAS-TREE   ON   THE  CLIFF. 

It  was  lucky  for  the  Children  of  the  Valley, 
as  i\Iaria  said,  that  Master  Will  got  home  from 
the  woods  and  put  his  heart  into  his  books  be- 
fore Christmas- time.  "  There'd  been  no  Christ- 
mas-tree," said  she,  "  if  that  child'd  got  lost  in 
the  woods.  I  declare  it  makes  my  blood  run 
cold  a-thinkin'  of  them  catamounts  !  " 

But  still  the  very  day  before  Christmas  had 
arrived,  and  the  expectant  little  southern  chil- 
dren saw  with  some  dismay  no  preparations  for 
a  Christmas-tree  about  the  house.  They  had, 
themselves,  prepared  the  most  elaborate  gifts  in 
their  power  for  the  grown-up  people.  Jack  had 
made  a  wooden  paper-knife  for  Old  Uncle, 
whittling  and  sand-papering  it  to  a  fine  edge ; 
and  Janet  had  made  Uncle  Billy  a  pen-mper, 
and  for  its  central  ornament  Ally  had  given  her 
tiny  glass  goose,  which  Janet  had  fastened  in  ; 
and  Essie  had  made  Aunt  Susan  a  blotter,  and 
pasted  her  best  paper  doll  on  the  cover,  daub- 
ing herself  stiff  with  the  mucilage.  But  except 
for  the  scarf  of  pink  wool  for  Aunt  Rose,  in  the 


64        TEE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   VALLEY. 

knitting  of  which  all  had  taken  turns,  they  had 
not  been  able  to  do  more  ;  and  they  had  decided 
to  make  an  exchange  of  possessions  for  each 
other. 

"  I'd  rather  give  the  paper-cutter  to  Will,  now 
he's  going  to  college,"  said  Jack,  a  little  wist- 
fully, as  twilight  fell  on  Christmas  Eve,  and 
they  were  feeling  a  trifle  misused.  "  Old  Uncle 
won't  want  it,  and  he'll  only  grunt." 

"  He'll  be  very  pleased  inside,"  said  Essie. 

"  Hurrah  I  "  said  Will,  coming  in  just  then, 
"  you're  all  to  be  allowed  to  sit  up,  and  we're 
all  bound  for  a  big  sleigh-ride  as  soon  as  suppers 
over  !  " 

"  Isn't  there  any  Christmas-tree  ? "  asked 
Essie. 

"  Oh,  yes  I  there'll  be  a  Christmas-tree,"  said 
Will. 

And  then  Aunt  Rose  swept  them  all  out  to 
their  hot  milk  and  zwei])ach,  and  the  thin 
pancakes  rolled  in  jelly,  which  were  a  special 
treat.  And  aftei  that,  there  was  a  wild  husthng 
up-stairs  and  into  thick  clothes  and  wraps ;  and 
the  sleigh-bells  were  jangling  and  wrangling,  and 
they  were  rushing  out  and  in,  and  the  hot  soap- 
stones  were  at  their  feet,  and  the  furs  tucked 
round  them,  and  Pincher  was  driving  —  and  it 
was  certain  that  the  whole  household  were  along, 
either  in  the  big  sleigh  or  the  little  ones,  ex- 
cept Uncle  Billy  and  Charlie. 

The  dusk  was  all  about  them  and  clear  star- 
light over  head ;  and  soon  silence  fell  upon  the 


THE   CHRISTMAS-TREE   ON   THE   CLIFF.    65 

wondering  little  ones  who  seemed  to  themselves 
to  be  on  the  edge  of  some  strange  beautiful  un- 
known other  world. 

Pincher  brought  the  horses  to  a  walk,  and 
drove  them  so  carefully  that  there  was  hardly  a 
tinkle  of  harness  or  bells  as  they  climbed  the 
steep  snowy  way.  Far  off  and  softly  came  the 
silvery  peal  from  the  tower  of  the  little  church 
below  them.  They  wound  round  a  projecting 
wall  of  the  mountain  —  and  there  on  the  side  of 
the  great  cliff,  blazing  with  a  myriad  colored 
lights  that  hung  on  its  huge  bouglis  like  some 
wonderful  fruit,  was  the  ancient  fir-tree  that  had 
weathered  centuries  of  storm  and  shine,  holding 
up  all  its  splendor  to  the  dark  skies,  and  answer- 
ing the  distant  stars  with  emerald  and  ruby  and 
topaz  and  sapphire  sparks. 

There  was  a  shout  from  every  voice,  and  then 
silence  again.     Essie  burst  into  tears. 

*'What  in  gracious  you  crying  for?"  asked 
Will,  leaning  back  to  whisper. 

*'  Oh  !  it's  so  beautiful,"  said  Essie.  "  I  can't 
bear  it." 

"  It  is  so  beautiful,"  said  Ally,  hugging  her. 
*'  Oh,  Essie  !    look  again  !    and  look  again  !  " 

And  they  looked  again,  and  again  ;  and  they 
drove  slowly  np  the  way  to  see  it  from  all  sides, 
making  night  glorious,  and  turned  and  drove 
slowly  back.  And  all  the  time  the  Christmas 
bells  rang  out  below,  and  the  great  tree  held  out 
its  proud  branches  clad  in  living  rainbows. 
Then,  with  many  cries  of  joy,  they  went  down 


66         THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY, 

and  left  its  last  sparkle  round  the  cliff  behind 
them. 

"  Hold  on  !  "  cried  a  voice  they  knew.  "  If 
you  would  hear  something  to  your  advantage, 
hold  on  !  "  And  after  a  little  delay,  Uncle 
Billy  and  Charlie  came  round  the  cliff,  lugging 
a  big  box  along,  with  as  much  of  the  parapher- 
nalia of  the  battery  as  they  could  bring,  and 
got  it  in  one  of  the  sleiglis.  Then  after  going 
back  up  the  hciglit  for  tlie  rest,  they  piled  into 
the  sleigh  with  the  children,  and  Uncle  Billy 
took  the  reins  and  drove  down  the  hill,  as  Will 
said,  as  if  a  comet  were  after  them,  while  all 
of  them  sang  at  the  top  of  their  sweet  shrill 
voices,  "  When  shepherds  watched  their  flocks 
by  night." 

"  Oh !  do  you  suppose,"  said  Janet,  when  they 
had  finished  singing,  "  that  what  the  shepherds 
saw  Avas  more  beautiful  than  that  tree  full  of 
jewels  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  was,"  said  Essie  ;  "  angels  are 
more  beautiful  than  anything  —  up  in  the  dark 
sky  —  angels  that  the  glory  shone  round  !  " 

"  Well,  children,"  said  Old  Uncle  when  the 
sleighs  stopped  at  the  door,  "  how  do  3"0U  like 
my  sort  of  a  Christmas-tree  ?  " 

"  O  Uncle !  Old  Uncle  !  we  like  it ;  there  was 
never  anything  so  fine  !     It  was  just  —  just  — " 

"  So  I  think,"  said  he ;  "that  fills  my  idea  of  a 
Christmas-tree.  Not  looking  out  for  gifts,  but 
just  making  the  tree  show  forth  praise.  Still 
I  suppose  you  youngsters  would  like  a  surprise 


THE   CHRISTMAS-TREE    ON   THE    CLIFF.    67 

or  two,  and  Santa  Glaus  would  be  disappointed 
if  he  found  no  stocldngs  at  the  chimney-side. 
Hang  them  all  up  and  see  what  will  happen." 

And  all  of  a  sudden  Old  Uncle  was  swarmed 
over  by  a  multitude  of  red  sleeves  and  mittens, 
and  cold  cheeks  and  warm  kisses,  that  took  him 
as  much  by  surprise  as  in  a  minute  or  two  it 
did  the  owners  of  the  sleeves  and  mittens  and 
cheeks  —  to  think  they  had  ventured  it ! 


G8        THE  CUILmiEN  OF  THE   VALLEY, 


XL 

AUNT    ROSE   AND    THE   CHILDREN. 

The  happy  winter  wore  away.  And  one 
March  day,  under  the  lee  of  a  rock,  they  found 
what  looked  like  a  little  purple  rose,  the  first 
hepatica,  blooming  in  the  wind  and  frost  and 
raw  air.  The  brooks  were  breaking  their  ice 
chains  then,  and  racing  away ;  and  there  was  a 
sound  of  frogs  singing,  like  silver  bells ;  and 
look!  here  was  a  robin,  and  there  went  the 
flash  of  a  blue-bird's  wing.  The  buds  that  had 
pushed  off  the  leaves  last  fall  were  swelling ; 
the  air  was  full  of  Avings,  full  of  song;  the  rocks 
were  white  with  saxifrage,  the  grass  slopes  were 
thick  with  violets ;  and  then  came  the  rich 
pungent  lilac  scent  every  time  the  old  trees 
shook  their  purple  plumes  in  the  wind ;  and 
after  that  the  world  looked  as  if  it  had  spread  its 
wings  in  the  flowering  of  the  apple-orchards  ; 
then  came  the  bramble-roses,  and  summer  was 
warm  on  all  the  hills. 

"I  don't  know  how  there  can  be  anything 
more  beautiful  than  summer  in  this  valley  be- 
tween the  hills,"  said  Aunt   Rose.      "  How  1 


AUNT  ROSE  AND    THE   CHILDREN.       69 

wish  all  the  children  in  the  dark  crowded  city 
could  have  such  air  and  sunshine  1 " 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Rose,  I  wish  so  too !"  said  Essie. 

"  Is  it  very  dark  and  crowded  there  ?  "  asked 
Ally. 

"Ally,"  said  Aunt  Rose,  "once  I  saw  a 
street  so  narrow  that  it  was  hardly  more  than  a 
gutter,  and  the  quarrehng  women  in  the  high 
old  rickety  houses  on  either  side  could  hit 
each  other  with  their  brooms.  And  there  were 
little  starved-looking  children  there  among 
those  women." 

"  Oh !  couldn't  we  take  some  of  them  up 
here  to  have  some  of  our  summer  ? "  asked 
Janet. 

"  Old  Uncle  wouldn't  like  it,"  said  Jack. 

"  No,  Old  Uncle  wouldn't,"  said  Essie. 
"  He  thinks  there's  plenty  of  children  here 
now." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Aunt  Rose,  re- 
flecting a  little  while.  "  Once  we  had  Fresh 
Air  children  here,  a  good  while  ago,  and  it 
didn't  disturb  him." 

"Perhaps,  then,  he  wouldn't  mind,"  said 
Essie. 

The  thought  of  the  children  in  the  city  was 
such  a  sad  one  to  them  all  that  Aunt  Rose  was 
sorry  she  had  spoken  of  them.  For  there  had 
been  some  melancholy  in  the  season  any  way 
for  Essie  and  Ally,  as  Bobbo,  Ally's  cat,  had 
disappeared  ;  and  Essie's  best  doll,  the  one  that 
always  went  to  bed  with  her,  had  lost  her  head 


TO         THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

in  crossing  a  brook  while  her  little  mother 
stopped  on  the  stepping-stone  to  show  her  the 
picture  of  herself  in  the  pool  just  there. 

It  was  in  this  melancholy  time,  when  Essie 
and  Ally  were  sitting  in  the  garret  one  rainy 
day,  and  Essie  had  been  telling  Ally  her  dreams 
concerning  the  Children  of  the  Hill  —  who 
were,  to  her  imagination,  not  little  darlings  who 
had  been  laid  to  rest  up  there,  but  a  sort  of 
angel-people  —  that  Aunt  Susan  had  come  up 
and  had  cried  over  the  tiny  shirt  she  took  from 
the  old  bureau-drawer  and  Ally  had  tried  to 
comfort  her. 

"  Some  day,"  little  Ally  had  said,  when  Aunt 
Susan  had  gone  down,  ''  some  day  I  am  going 
up  to  find  the  Children  of  the  Hill,  and  ask 
them  to  give  back  Aunt  Susan's  baby." 

And  it  was  the  very  next  morning  but  one 
that  Ally  was  not  to  he  found  —  as  you  read 
in  the  beginning  of  the  story  —  and  the  whole 
house  and  place  and  Valley  were  in  commotion, 
and  no  one  knew  where  to  find  her. 


THE  FLIGHT  ON  A   STREET-CAR.  71 


XII. 

THE   FLIGHT   ON   A   STREET-CAR. 

It  was  in  this  same  lovely  summer-time,  far 
down  in  that  dark,  crowded  city  of  which  Aunt 
Rose  had  told  the  Children  of  the  Valley,  that 
one  night  a  little  girl,  with  a  little  baby  in  her 
arms,  was  standing  in  the  doorway  of  a  house 
that  looked  ready  to  fall  on  her. 

A  trickle  of  dirty  water  ran  down  the  middle 
of  the  cobble-stones  in  front.  The  night  was 
hot ;  men  were  asleep  on  their  carts  drawn  up 
beside  the  walls,  women  were  asleep  hanging 
half  out  of  the  windows  above  for  a  breath  of 
coolness,  and  other  women  had  made  some  sort 
of  bed  on  the  pavement  for  their  sick  babies, 
and  had  stretched  themselves  on  the  hard  stones 
beside  them.  The  little  girl's  home  was  in  one 
room  far  up  near  the  top  of  the  house,  a  room 
that  had  no  window  in  it,  and  out  of  it  her 
mother  had  been  carried  to  her  grave  the  day 
before.  The  dark,  small,  airless  place  had 
grown  dreadful  with  stifling  heat ;  and  she  had 
taken  the  small  baby  brother  in  her  arms,  and 
crept  down  the  long   flights  of  stairs.     Almost 


72   THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE  VALLEY. 

every  other  step  was  missing,  and  rats  slipped 
along  beside  her. 

It  seemed  heavenly  to  get  down  into  the  open 
air,  foul  and  hot  as  that  sort  of  open  air  was. 
She  stepped  out  on  the  cobble-stones,  picking 
her  way  through  the  gasping  people  there,  no 
one  noting  her  or  caring  about  her. 

She  had  heard  some  of  the  women  in  the 
house  say  that  she  and  the  baby  were  to  be 
sent  to  an  Institution.  She  did  not  know  what 
that  meant,  but  felt  in  it  something  of  a  vague 
horror.  It  would  be  a  dreadful  fate  for  her  and 
for  the  little  new  baby.  A  resolve  to  run  away 
from  it  had  filled  her  whole  being.  She  had 
heard  cruel  stories  of  places  where  poor  chil- 
dren, like  her,  were  sent  —  probably  they  were 
Institutions. 

One  of  the  more  tender-hearted  people  who 
had  been  there  that  morning  had  given  her 
some  silver  pieces.  She  had  clutched  and  hid- 
den them,  and  now  she  was  wondering  liow  far 
away  they  would  take  her. 

She  wandered  on  from  one  to  another  of  the 
feebly-lighted  lanes  and  alleys,  hushing  the 
baby,  giving  it  her  finger  to  suck,  shifting  it 
from  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  throwing  back  a 
swift  glance  of  terror  now  and  again  lest  any- 
one followed ;  for  her  fears  had  grown  so  that 
it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  alle}^  the  whole  city, 
were  in  a  conspiracy  to  send  her  to  the  terrible 
Institution. 

At  last,  cautiously,  stopping  to  look,  to  listen, 


THE  FLIGHT   ON  A   STREET-CAR.         73 

slinking  into  doorways  if  any  came  along,  slip- 
ping far  outside  every  knot  of  roistering  or 
quarreling  men,  so  small  and  dark  herself  as  to 
seem  only  a  part  of  the  shadows,  she  came  out 
upon  the  broader  street  that  led  into  a  square. 
Down  a  cross-street  she  saw  the  lights  of  a 
street-car  flash  along.  It  was  going  some- 
where —  away  from  this.  She  walked  back- 
ward to  make  sure  no  one  watched  while  she 
got  out  one  of  her  silver  pieces,  then  turned  and 
ran  swiftly,  noiselessly. 

A  car,  coming  along  at  that  moment,  was  stop- 
ping for  someone  to  get  off ;  and  she  clambered 
up  the  steps  in  the  instant,  disposed  herself  and 
the  baby  at  one  end  of  the  seat,  and  held  out 
her  silver  piece  to  the  conductor  as  if  she  rode 
in  cars  every  day  of  her  life,  although  disturbed 
by  his  sharp  glance. 

The  motion  of  the  car  was  delightful.  It 
soothed  the  baby  off  to  sleep ;  and  the  Avind  of 
its  movement  was  so  refreshing  that  she  could 
have  gone  to  sleep  herself.  She  passed  the 
time  wishing  the  car  was  never  going  to  stop, 
and  hearing  the  wheels  sing  over  and  over  to 
some  tune  of  the  alleys  :  "  She'll  never  go  back 
no  more.     She'll  never  go  back  no  more." 

She  was  in  a  happy  land  between  dreaming 
and  waking,  when  the  car  came  to  a  stop,  and 
a  rude  voice  called,  "  End  er  the  line  !  " 

It  filled  her  with  consternation  for  a  moment 
Far  off  a  church  bell  struck.  It  seemed  an  act 
of  Providence  that  the  car  in  waiting  just  be- 


74         THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   VALLEY. 

yond  was  starting  for  somewhere  farther  on, 
and  she  ran  again  and  climbed  aboard. 

She  had  no  idea  where  she  was  going  ;  but  it 
was  into  distance,  away  from  the  city,  on  and  on. 

She  crept  out  when  by  and  by  the  car  turned 
into  its  stable ;  and  after  strolling  on  a  bit  far- 
ther, she  lay  down  on  a  piece  of  grass  and  went 
so  sound  asleep  in  the  warm  night  that  she  did 
not  even  hear  the  baby  cry. 


SALLY'S    VOYAGE.  75 


XIII. 

sally's  voyage. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  the  little  girl 
awoke,  and  saw  a  policeman  bending  over  her. 

"Oh,  yep ! "  she  cried,  springing  up  at  once 
and  adjusting  the  baby.  "  I'm  on  me  way  to 
de  country  wid  de  kid.  I'se  got  de  stuff;  "  and 
she  would  have  showed  him  a  piece  of  her  silver 
if  she  had  not  feared  he  might  take  it  from  her. 
The  sight  of  the  policeman  gave  her  a  great 
scare  —  it  seemed  as  though  it  were  impossible 
to  escape  from  the  city  bounds.  But  after  a 
kindly  word  and  laugh  he  went  another  way ; 
and  she  presently  saw  a  little  shop  where  she 
bought  some  milk,  and  fed  the  baby  with  a  great 
deal  of  gurgling  on  his  part  and  of  endearment 
on  hers,  refilled  the  bottle,  and  then  took  a  look 
about  her.  There  was  water  not  far  away,  and 
ships  and  steamboats,  and  a  crowd  of  masts  and 
funnels. 

A  bold  idea  struck  her.  She  went  down  on 
one  of  the  long  wharves,  still  shouldering  the 
baby  that  had  fallen  asleep  again,  walked 
aboard  the  boat  where  she  saw  the  most  com- 
motion, and  sat  down   behind  a  lot  of  barrels. 


76         THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

It  was  a  freight  steamer,  and  not  twenty  min- 
utes afterward  it  cast  off  and  was  out  in  the 
stream  and  plowing  its  way  steadily  out  to  sea. 

She  knew  that  she  could  not  escape  dis- 
covery. But  she  did  not  believe  the  men  would 
throw  her  overboard,  and  she  fancied  that 
maybe  they  would  give  her  something  to  eat. 
Really  she  was  not  tliinking  much  of  anything 
excepting  that  they  must  get  away,  get  away 
from  that  dreadful  Institution.  Poor  little  girl, 
who  would  have  been  so  comfortable  with  the 
clean  clothes,  good  food,  and  kind  treatment  of 
the  very  Institution  from  which  she  was  run- 
ning away,  if  she  had  only  known  it ! 

Suddenly  the  bab}^  set  up  his  tane.  And 
then  you  may  be  sure  there  was  an  uproar,  and 
a  throng  of  bearded  faces  over  her,  and  a  chorus 
of  loud  voices  round  her.  She  was  bidden  out 
on  the  deck,  and  stood  there  in  the  ragged  gown 
that  was  her  only  garment,  with  her  bare  feet, 
looking  at  the  sailors  with  w41d  but  fearless 
eyes,  out  of  a  tangle  of  hair,  and  clutching  the 
baby. 

*'  Hushy,  hushy,  hushy,"  she  said  to  the 
whimpering  little  thing,  as  she  patted  its  back. 
*'It's  Sally's  by  by,  it's  Sally's  by  by.  Dey  sha'n't 
nab  Sally's  byby  !  " 

And  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  that  tuey 
didn't  try  to  *'  nab  Sally's  byby."  But  they 
gave  Sally  a  good  brealdast,  and  a  good  dinner, 
and  a  bunk  that  night  to  sleep  in,  and  passed 
the  baby   round,  and  altogether   treated  Sally 


SALLY'S  VOYAGE.  77 

like  a  princess.  One  of  them  gave  her  a  large 
silk  handkerchief,  several  of  them  gave  her 
silver  dollars,  and  the  cook  made  the  baby  a 
little  slip  out  of  his  own  old  shirt. 

They  did  counsel  among  themselves,  indeed, 
as  to  the  possibility  of  adopting  her  and  the 
baby  as  mascots.  Sally  overheard  them,  and 
became  filled  with  new  friglit;  for  that  meant 
going  back  and  forth  to  the  city,  and  perhaps 
being  found  by  some  of  the  Institution's  agents. 

To  such  an  extent  did  this  new  fear  go  that, 
although  she  kncAV  she  was  leaving  kind  friends, 
the  moment  she  could  escape  observation  after 
they  were  at  the  wharf  in  the  distant  port, 
Sally  quietly  slipped  ashore  and  made  off. 


78    THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 


XIV. 

sally's  hill  journey. 

Sally  had  been  a  little  Fresh  Air  child  one 
year ;  and  so,  being  very  bright  and  sharp  with 
her  eyes,  and  quite  capable  of  putting  two  and 
two  together,  she  was  not  unfamiliar  with  the 
ways  of  getting  about. 

She  soon  found  her  way  to  the  station,  people 
gazing  after  her  with  her  baby  on  her  shoulder. 
She  felt  so  much  more  respectable  than  before 
the  cook  of  the  steamer  took  out  his  big  needle 
and  thread  in  her  behalf  that  she  did  not  mind 
the  curious  eyes  as  she  skimmed  along. 

At  the  station  she  got  some  crackers,  and 
some  fresh  milk  for  the  baby,  in  a  dreadful 
hurry,  lest  this  time  it  should  be  the  sailors  who 
would  be  after  her. 

At  the  ticket-office,  after  answering  many  in- 
quisitive questions,  she  bought  with  her  silver 
dollars  a  ticket  that  would  take  her  a  long  way 
on  the  train  that  was  going  farthest  from  the 
city  she  had  left  in  the  first  place. 

But  she  was  not  without  alarm,  when,  as  she 
sat  munching  her  crackers,  the  train  began  to 
back  and  fill,  ran  a  mile  or  so,  and  then  stood 
still  a  long  while.     She  walked  up  and  down  in 


SALLY'S  HILL  JOURNEY.  79 

the  aisle,  looking  out  of  windows  anxiously  at 
every  turn,  over  the  broad  water  where  boats 
rocked  pleasantly,  and  singing  in  a  low  voice  to 
the  restless  baby  on  her  shoulder : 

"  Buy  my  pipers,  pvitty  loicly, 

I  don't  darst  go  home,  that's  true ; 
I  won't  git  no  supper,  loidy, 
If  ye  don't,  and  if  I  do." 

At  last  another  train  came  along,  some  people 
hurried  in,  and  then  Sally's  train  went  puffing 
and  blowing  on  its  way ;  and  the  joggle  jolted 
the  baby  to  sleep,  and  by  and  by  Sally  too. 
She  roused  herself  to  give  the  conductor  her 
ticket  —  the  man  looking  at  her  searchingly ; 
but  when  he  came  back  to  question  her  he  found 
her  asleep  again. 

It  was  a  long,  refreshing  slumber  that  Sally 
had ;  and  when  at  last  the  little  old  conductor 
told  her  this  was  the  place  to  which  her  ticket 
took  her,  she  skipped  off  the  car,  happy-hearted 
to  think  of  all  the  long  distance  that  lay  be- 
tween her  and  the  city  and  the  ship.  She 
edged  through  the  little  throng  always  waiting 
at  a  station,  who  if  they  thought  at  all  about 
her  thought  she  belonged  to  some  poor  French 
Canadians,  and  hurried  down  the  first  road  she 
saw.  Then  spying  a  foot-path  leading  up  a  hill, 
among  low  bushes,  to  a  wood,  she  was  over  the 
fence  in  no  time,  and  following  it  up  and  out  of 
sight. 

Then  at  last  Sally  breathed  freely.     She  never 


80         THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   VALLEY. 

thought  of  being  afraid  in  the  green  afternoon 
wood.  She  kept  the  half-visible  path  by  a  kind 
of  instinct. 

On  and  on,  and  up  and  up,  Sally  went.  Then 
down  and  down  on  the  other  side,  she  made  her 
way,  sometimes  in  deep  green  gloom,  and  creep- 
ing under  heavy  branches ;  sometimes  where  a 
shimmer  of  leaves  let  her  see  a  pale  blue  sky 
overhead.  Once  a  young  fawn  looked  at  her 
through  the  boughs  and  fled  away  in  a  fright 
that  made  her  laugh  —  as  if  anything  need  be 
afraid  of  her !  Once  a  brood  of  httle  brown 
partridges  scurried  away  under  foot  like  a  par- 
cel of  dead  leaves.  Once  she  stooped  to  smooth 
two  little  hairy  things  cuddled  in  a  grassy  hol- 
low in  the  lee  of  a  big,  warm  rock,  who  evident- 
ly did  not  like  it ;  and  it  was  well  for  Sally 
that  their  mother,  who  would  not  have  liked  it 
either,  was  off  foraging  and  rolling  in  a  berry- 
patch  —  for  they  were  bear's  cubs. 

All  the  way  along  Sally  was  conscious  of  a 
delicious  sort  of  air,  a  scent  of  earth  and  flow- 
ers and  spicy  leaves  that  comforted  her  soul, 
although  burrs  and  boughs  and  twigs  and 
pebbles  discomfited  her  feet,  tough  little  feet 
though  they  were. 

By  and  by  the  trees  grew  thin.  She  came 
out  on  a  bright  and  open  spot  where  a  spring 
bubbled  up  and  ran  away  in  a  tiny  brook.  A 
wooden  trough,  hollowed  out  of  an  old  tree, 
stood  beside  the  spring,  half  full  of  water  in 
which  the  sun  had  lain  all  day. 


SALLY'S  HILL  JOURNEY.  81 

As  she  sat  down,  Sally  dabbled  her  fingers  in 
the  trough.  The  water  was  warm.  In  a  mo- 
ment she  had  off  the  baby's  poor  little  slip,  and 
then  gave  him  the  most  refreshing  bath  the 
little  creature  had  ever  had  in  his  life.  After 
it,  she  laid  him  down  to  kick  and  sprawl  and 
crow  and  gurgle  on  a  bed  of  soft  warm  moss, 
while  she  washed  her  own  face  and  hands,  and 
dipped  her  head  in  the  spring,  where  the  water 
made  a  glossy  curl  of  every  lock  of  her  hair. 

This  done,  Sally  took  the  bottle  of  milk  out 
of  the  big  silk  handkerchief,  tasted  it  to  find  if 
it  were  still  sweet,  and  proceeded  to  give  the 
baby  his  supper.  She  put  the  bottle  after- 
wards in  the  edge  of  the  running  water  to  keep 
cool,  and  then  wrapped  him  over  and  over  in 
the  soft  handkerchief,  having  spread  his  httle 
gown  on  a  bush  to  dry,  and  laid  him  down  on 
the  grass.  She  rambled  about  a  little  wliile, 
picking  and  eating  berries.  Afterward  she  lay 
down  beside  him,  putting  her  arm  over  him. 
Tired  out  with  her  long  tramp  and  all  her  cares 
and  fears,  Sally  slept  till  the  baby  woke  her  in 
the  broad  sunlight  of  the  next  morning.  She 
ran  for  the  bottle  in  the  brook ;  but  alas  the 
little  drop  of  milk  was  sour.  She  stayed  long 
enough  to  wash  the  bottle ;  and  then,  without 
stopping  for  any  of  the  tempting  berries,  she 
took  up  her  march  again. 

The  baby  was  crying  lustily  for  his  breakfast, 
when  Sally  saw  the  smoke  of  a  farmhouse  and 
with   some    hesitation    drew  near  it.     A  man, 


82         THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE    VALLEY. 

coming  from  the  barn,  was  just  carrying  in  a 
foaming  pail  of  milk. 

"  Oh,  if  youse'd  gimme  de  full  of  de  bottle!  " 
cried  Sall3\ 

"What  for?  "  said  the  man  gruffly. 

"  For  de  by  by,"  answered  Sally. 

"  Why  don't  you  have  your  own  milk  ?  "  said 
the  man.     ''  There,  hold  your  dipper." 

But  Sally  hadn't  any  dipper ;  and  at  that 
moment  a  thin,  colorless  woman  appeared  at 
the  door,  a  look  of  wonder  and  then  another  of 
pity  and  sweetness  sweeping  over  her  face  ;  and 
Sally  and  the  baby  were  in  the  kitchen  directly 
afterward. 

"  Where'd  you  come  f'm?'*  the  woman  asked 
Sally. 

"  Down  below,"  said  Sally,  who  had  no  no- 
tion of  telling. 

"  Whar  3'ou  goin'  ?  " 

"  Goin'  on." 

"  Got  any  motlier  ?  "  twisting  one  of  Sally's 
curls. 

"  Naw." 

"  Nor  father,  either,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Naw." 

"  My  land !  Wal,  you  hev  somethin'  ter  eat, 
an'  then  I'll  see."  And  Sally  had  a  breakfast 
that  made  her  think  of  these  people  as  one 
thinks  of  those  in  kings'  palaces  —  only  Sally 
had  never  heard  of  kings'  palaces. 

While  she  was  "topping  off,"  as  the  good 
woman    called    it,    with    pancakes    and  maple- 


SALLY'S  HILL  JOURNEY.  83 

S3rrup,  her  new  friend  fed  the  baby,  and  then 
brought  a  basin  of  warm  water  and  soap  with 
soft  towels,  and  washed  him  carefully  and 
rubbed  his  back,  while  he  stretched  and  kicked 
and  laughed.  She  got  a  little  cotton  night- 
gown that  she  had  laid  away  in  camphor,  and 
put  it  on  him.  "  Oh !  she  said,  "  he's  good 
enough  to  eat ! "  She  took  him  out  to  show 
him  to  her  husband.  "  Father  ! "  she  said. 
"  He's  jest  the  image  of  our  little  John  ! " 

"  Can't  help  it  ef  he  is,"  said  the  man,  who 
evidently  knew  what  she  wished.  "  We  can't 
afford  ter  be  a-keepin'  of  tramps.  She  said  she 
was  goin'  on.      You  jes'  let  her  go  on  !  " 

The  woman  knew  it  was  no  use  to  say  more. 
She  came  in  with  tears  on  her  face.  But  she 
had  Sally  make  herself  decent,  and  she  gave  her 
a  cotton  gown  that  had  once  been  pink  and  was 
now  a  rosv  wliite.  In  it,  though  it  was  a  little 
too  long,  Sally  looked  quite  quaint.  It  had  been 
the  gown  of  the  poor  woman's  dear  and  only 
daughter,  who  had  died  before  the  little  John 
had  died.  And  then  this  good,  kind  soul  did 
up  Sally's  scratched  and  blistered  feet  in  some 
ointment,  with  bandages,  and  dressed  them  up 
in  a  pair  of  little  old  shoes  she  had  always  kept. 
After  that  she  put  up  a  luncheon  of  fried  bread 
and  a  piece  of  pie  for  Sally,  and  filled  the  milk- 
bottle,  and  Sally  shouldered  the  baby  and  made 

ofe. 

But  turning  for  a  look  at  the  place  where  she 
had  met  so  much  kindness,  Sally  saw  the  woman 
crying,  and  she  went  back. 


84  TEE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

"  Youse  ain't  no  need  ter  feel  bad,"  she  said, 
as  she  put  her  arms  round  the  kind  friend's 
neck.  And  then  suddenly,  in  a  great  fear  of 
she  knew  not  what,  she  scampered  off  as  fast 
as  her  feet  would  let  her.  They  w^re  very  tired 
and  lame  little  feet  now. 


THAT  DAY    WHEN  ALLY   WAS   LOST.      85 


XV. 

THAT   DAY   WHEN    ALLY   WAS   LOST. 

The  morning  had  deepened  into  late  fore- 
noon before  —  going  a  little  way,  and  resting  a 
little  while,  and  going  on  again,  and  stopping 
a  moment  to  cry,  and  talking  to  the  baby  — 
Sally  gave  herself  up  to  rest. 

She  had  come  to  a  place  of  velvet  grass,  a 
glen,  that  although  shut  in  with  green  hills,  yet 
gave  her  a  sense  of  being  high  in  clear  sweet 
air.  A  stream  trickled  over  some  upper  cliff  in 
a  thin  waterfall  that  gave  a  murmuring  sound. 
And  as  the  baby  was  fretting,  Sally  thought  it 
might  be  time  for  his  second  dinner ;  and  almost 
before  he  had  finished  it,  braced  by  the  moun- 
tain air  and  weary  with  her  walk,  she  fell  as 
sound  asleep  as  the  baby  did. 

Sally  opened  her  eyes  an  hour  or  two  after- 
wards to  behold,  bending  over  her,  the  most 
beautiful  thing  she  had  ever  seen. 

It  was  a  golden-haired  child  with  big  blue 
eyes  shining  out  of  a  flushed  and  smiling,  won- 
dering face. 

Sally  had  heard  somewhere,  she  did  not  know 
where,  but   very  vaguely,  of   such  a   place  as 


86         THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE   VALLEY, 

Heaven,  of  sach  a  thing  as  an  angel.  Now  she 
lay  there  on  the  soft  warm  grass,  and  looked  up 
at  the  velvet  blue  sky,  and  smelled  the  wind 
wandering  by  laden  with  the  breath  of  the 
wild  sweet-brier,  and  remembered  the  wings  of 
the  low-darting  birds,  the  murmur  of  the  water- 
fall, and  she  came  to  the  instant  conclusion  that 
this  was  Heaven,  and  that  so  her  mother  was 
not  far  off. 

"  Say  !    Be  youse  an  angel  ?  "   she  whispered. 

"  Oh,  I'm  Ally  !  "  answered  the  little  creature. 
"  I've  come  to  find  you.  You're  one  of  the 
Children  of  the  Hill,  I  suppose,  and  here's  the 
baby,  the  very  baby !  Come  with  me  quick  I 
Aunt  Susan  wants  the  baby  !  " 

**What!"  cried  Sally  in  alarm.  "It  ain't 
Heaven  den  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Ally.  "  It's  Green  Ridge. 
It's  the  basin  where  we  have  picnics." 

"  Who's  Aunt  Susan  ?  " 

"  Why,  she's  —  she's  Aunt  Susan  at  the  house. 
She's  real  sweet.     And  she  wants  the  baby." 

"  Is  it  de  'Statution  down  there  ?  " 

"  It's  the  farm,  —  Old  Uncle's  farm,"  said 
Ally,  "  and  Uncle  Billy's  farm." 

"  Oh,  de  farm-school !  "  cried  Sally,  sure  now 
of  evil  mischance.  "  Well,  I  ain't  goin',  and 
you  can  tell  'em  so !  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  want  3^ou  to  I  I  live  down  there 
—  I'm  one  of  the  Children  of  the  Valley.  We 
have  beautiful  times.  We  learn  lessons,  a  little 
while    mornings,  and    then  we    have  beautiful 


THAT  DAY   WHEN  ALLY   WAS  LOST.      87 

times.  We're  all  learning  to  swim,  and  we  had 
fireworks  the  Fourth  of  July.  And  there's 
Essie  and  Janet  and  Jack  and "  —  just  then 
old  Brindle  went  across  a  pasture  down  below. 
"  You  aren't  afraid  of  cows,  are  you  ?  " 

*'  I  ain't  afraid  o'  nothin',"  said  Sally  defi- 
antly. 

"  I've  got  a  little  cow  of  my  own.  Wouldn't 
you  like  a  little  cow?  I'll  give  you  mine,"  said 
Ally  fervently.  "And  Essie  has  a  cat,  Erminie; 
and  she  brings  her  kittens  into  the  house  for 
us  to  see.  And  there's  beautiful  dogs.  And 
we  take  rides  on  a  pony  —  Uncle  Billy  holds  us 
on ;  you  shall  have  my  turn.  And  we  feed  the 
hens  —  there's  a  darling  white  hen  with  fifteen 
chickens,"  went  on  the  little  coaxer.  "  And  we 
have  gardens  and  make  flowers  grow.  Do  the 
Children  of  the  Hill  make  flowers  grow  ?  Essie 
and  Janet  think  they  do." 

"Who's  de  Childurn  o'  de  Hill?"  asked 
Sally.  "  Youse  sure  it  ain't  no  bloomin'  'Statu- 
tion  down  there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  a  'Statution. 
It's  Old  Uncle's  farm." 

"  Perhaps  it's  a  Fresh  Air  farm  ?  "  said  Sally. 
"I  know  w'ot  dat  is.  I  was  to  a  Fresh  Air 
farm  once.     You  bet  it  was  nice  !  " 

"  This  is  nice,"  urged  Ally.  "  'Tis  a  Fresh 
Air  farm,  I  guess,"  she  said  triumphantly. 
"And  Diane  makes  us  such  nice  cakes,  and 
gives  us  honey.  There's  lots  of  'licious  things 
down  there." 


88         TUB  CHILDREN    OF   THE    VALLEY. 

"  Do  youse  play  tag  ?  "  interrupted  Sally. 

"  And  goal,  and  ball,  and  Old  Man's  Castle, 
and  see-saw,  and  —  and  —  Essie  '11  give  you 
her  other  doll  if  you'll  come,  and  I'll  help 
carry  the  baby  down  for  you  !  Oh,  isn't  he  a 
dear !  I  love  a  baby  —  a  baby's  better  than  a 
doll.  You  brought  him  back  on  purpose  to 
Aunt  Susan,  didn't  you  ?  " 

And  then  Ally's  arms  were  thrown  round 
Sally,  and  she  was  kissing  the  poor  little  bewil- 
dered face. 

"  I  guess  I'll  come,"  said  Sally,  struggling 
up.     "  I  want  to  see  dis  Aunt  Susan." 

They  hurried  on  for  a  long  way,  down  hill  all 
the  time,  round  a  thicket,  through  a  shivering 
birch  wood,  and  taking  turns  carrying  the  baby. 


AUNT  6UtiAN'S   BABY.  89 


XVI. 


When  Uncle  Billy  and  Pincher  came  round 
a  bend  of  the  tangled  path,  an  hour  or  two 
later,  cutting  their  way  through  the  thicket 
here,  and  lifting  the  low  boughs  there,  they 
stopped  short  at  the  sight  of  the  lost  xVlly  sit- 
ting on  a  log  with  Sally,  whose  feet  could 
take  her  no  farther.  Ally,  whose  rosy  face 
was  a  picture  of  delight,  sympathy,  and  anxi- 
ety, was  holding  a  tiny  sleeping  baby  in  her 
arms,  and  looking  at  it  with  eyes  of  unbounded 
love. 

Being  made  to  understand  the  case,  that  this 
was  one  of  the  Ciiildren  of  the  Hill,  only  her 
feet  were  lame,  who  had  brought  Aunt  Susan's 
baby  back  to  her  —  Uncle  Billy  blew  a  blast  on 
his  megaphone  to  let  the  family  know  Ally  was 
all  right. 

Then  he  took  Sally  in  his  arms,  while  Pincher 
followed  with  the  baby,  Ally  keeping  close 
behind.  After  a  few  intervals  of  rest,  and 
much  talk  by  the  way,  the  little  company  got 


90        THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE    VALLEY. 

down  the  hill  and  across  the  valley,  and  at  last 
reached  the  great  farm  piazza. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  when  Old  Uncle  and 
the  rest,  having  heard  the  megaphone,  came 
down  from  the  wilds  of  Blue  Top,  there  was 
Sally  in  the  hammock,  tired  and  white  through 
all  her  sunburn,  but  with  a  look  of  infinite 
happiness  on  her  face.  For  she  had  seen  Essie 
run  to  meet  Ally  and  throw  her  arms  about  her 
in  an  ecstasy  of  joy  at  her  safe  return,  and 
Janet  bringing  her  her  little  chair,  and  Will 
hurrying  with  the  dinner  that  had  been  saved 
for  her,  and  dividing  it  in  two  portions,  one  for 
herself  and  one  for  her.  And  Aunt  Rose  liad 
wiped  her  warm  and  dusty  face  with  a  wet 
sponge,  drying  it  with  a  soft  towel,  and  kissing 
her  when  all  was  done.  And  Aunt  Susan  was 
sitting  near  her  —  very  white  and  still  had 
Aunt  Susan  been  after  listening  to  Ally's  rapid 
exclamations  and  explanations.  P'or  Aunt  Susan 
had  come  out  on  the  lawn  in  wonder  at  the 
little  girl  Uncle  Billy  was  bringing  and  the  sight 
of  a  tiny  baby  in  Pincher's  arms,  and  Ally  had 
run  forward,  all  eagerness,  with  the  strangest 
words  : 

*'  Oh,  Aunt  Susan,  I've  got  you  back  your 
baby !  This  little  girl  —  she  is  one  of  the  Chil- 
dren of  the  Hill  —  she  was  bringing  it  home  ; 
and  I  met  her  and  told  her  about  us  all,  and 
how  you  had  wanted  it  and  wanted  it." 

When  Old  Uncle  came  up.  Aunt  Susan  was 
holding  the  baby,  who,  none  the  worse  for  his 


AUNT  SUSAN'S  BABY,  91 

out-door  life,  was  looking  up  at  her  as  if  the 
first  thing  of  which  he  had  ever  taken  notice 
was  the  mother-love  in  her  eyes. 

But  Aunt  Rose  had  heen  down  to  meet  Old 
Uncle. 

"  Oh!"  Aunt  Rose  had  cried,  "there  are  two 
children  here,  right  out  of  the  depths  —  though 
how  in  the  world  they  came  here  I  haven't  yet 
made  out,  except  that  the  little  girl —  and  she's 
the  merest  mite  herself  — ■  lugged  the  baby  all 
the  way  from  the  city.  Ally  was  up  there  in  the 
hollow  and  found  them.  It's  fortunate  that 
there  are  such  good  Institutions  "  — 

"  No,  no,  no ! "  interrupted  Ally,  who,  very 
proud  of  herself,  had  also  come  to  meet  Old 
Uncle.  "  She  can't  go  to  a  'statution.  She's 
afraid  of  them.  If  she  doesn't  go  back  among 
the  Children  of  the  Hill,  she's  going  to  stay 
here.  I  asked  her  to.  She  belongs  to  me.  I 
went  up  and  found  her  I  And  she  has  brought 
Aunt  Susan's  baby." 

Aunt  Susan  glanced  up  as  Old  Uncle  ap- 
proached. And  Old  Uncle  stopped  a  moment, 
and  looked  at  the  smile  on  her  face. 

"  If  there  weren't  so  many  children  here 
now,"  Essie  was  saying  tremulously,  half 
pleading. 

"  There's  not  a  child  too  many ! "  said  that 
surprising  Old  Uncle  then,  patting  Essie's 
brown  head.  "  All  we  needed  was  another 
little  girl  and  the  Baby.  Did  she  bring  that 
child  the  whole  way  in  her  arms?     Well,  she 


92    THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   VALLEY, 

needn't  carry  him  any  farther.  It  wouldn't  be 
possible  for  them  to  make  any  louder  noise 
than  we  have  now.  They  are  going  to  stay 
with  us,  and  make  two  more  Children  of  the 
Valley." 


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